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PAUL JUDSON 


A Story of The Kentucky 
Mountains 


BY 

EDWARD BAGBY POLLARD 

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ILLUSTRATED 


1905 

THE BAPTIST ARGUS 

Louisville, Kentucky 




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COPYRIGHTED 1905 
BY THE BAPTIST ARGUS 
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“With bowed head she communed with her heart.” 



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QUITTING HAWK S NEST. 

‘‘Well, Mrs. Judson, I hear 
you’re goin’ to give Paul a 
good send-off tomorrer even- 
in 

“No, Mrs. Filson, not exactly 
that, but Paul ’s going to start to 
college day after tomorrow, and 
I thought it would be nice to 
have some of the young folks 
from the neighborhood to come 
and say goodbye.” 

Mrs. Filson, a mountain wid- 
ow of a dozen years’ standing, 
had walked across the knoll, and 
up the steep path which led 
from her humble home to that of 
her neighbor, Mrs. Judson, and 
was comfortably seated for a friendly chat. 


2 


Paul Judson . 


“That’s rale nice to humor the young ’uns a 
little,” said Mrs. Filson. 

“You know we’ve had a mighty hard strug- 
gle,” continued Mrs. Judson, “since my good 
husband died, and we can’t give them much but 
a happy welcome. But we can give them that. 
Tell Nan she must be sure to come.” 

“I warrant yer, Nan’ll be on hand, Mrs. Jud- 
son. But don’t yer know, Zeke Bobbins come 
back last night. He’s been away for five 
months. He’s been where they’re snakin’ logs 
way up on Lonesome Creek. Hit looks to me like 
he’s powerful taken with Nan— the way he sets 
and looks at her. ’ ’ 

“Tell Nan to bring ’Zekiel with her,” said 
Mrs. Judson. 

“Zeke’s sorter shrinkin’ like, but I’d ruther 
have him shrinkin’ than forrud . Then he’s 
study, Mrs. Judson; he’s study . I don’t want 
my daughter to marry no reckless man. I like 
study habits.” 

The young folks came at the appointed time ; 
and though there were not many of them, they 
crowded the Judson home. The boys were 
quiet, and awkward enough. The girls were 
quiet, too, and not so awkward. They knew 
better what to do with their hands and feet. 
Now and then a merry laugh, or explosive gig- 
gle, indicated that the party was enjoying the 
evening more than an observer might suppose 
from outward appearances. 


Quitting Hawk's Nest. 


3 


Nan was there and so was Ezekiel. Nan was 
a big, joyous lass with cheeks which were red- 
der than cherries and looked almost as though 
they had been polished with pumice. 

Paul and Marcus, each in turn, had been ac- 
cused of loving her and so some thought they 
were looking upon Ezekiel with a touch of cold 
suspicion. The visitor manifestly held the right 
of way with Nan, and whenever, in the merry 
games, her hand touched his, 

“His heart went pitipat, 

And hers went pity ’Zekel.” 

Early the guests departed, for it was known 
that in the small hours of the morning the Jud- 
son boys were to start for Wilton. 

In the chill of a November morning, Paul 
and Marcus, mounted upon horses of whose 
pedigree certainly no Bluegrass stock raiser 
would ever have thought to inquire, set out up- 
on their journey. 

By the light of the candle they had eaten a 
simple breakfast. This, with much difficulty 
they had managed to swallow, had said good- 
bye to their mother and were off for a forty- 
mile ride to the village and its school. 

When the sun shone dull above the tops of 
the mountains, home was more than a mile be- 
hind them. In the hazy light of the early morn- 
ing they had passed the little meeting-house 
which held around it so many childish mem- 
ories, and seemed never to have looked so grim 


4 


Paul Judson. 


before. The two boys were the only sons of a 
mother who stood at the cottage door on this 
eventful morning and waved a “God bless 
you” to her departing boys. The older of 
them, Paul Judson, after much earnest think- 
ing and devoted sacrificing in which all three 
of the humble little family willingly joined, had 
decided to break home ties and seek an educa- 
tion. For this he had labored and prayed 
for five long years. With the collection of 
necessary clothing, made by a mother’s hand 
and tied in a piece of four-cornered cloth ; with 
the thirty-five dollars of hard earnings, sewed 
in the lining of his coat, a sum which was the 
tangible evidence of months 
of family self-denial, young 
Judson at last seemed to see 
the realization of his long 
cherished hopes. These ef- 
fects together with a mother’s 
prayers and a great deal of 
grit, were the assets with 
which our mountain youth 
started out to find the school about which he had 
heard, and there win his battle of Waterloo, as 
Wellington remarked concerning his own school 
days. Paul did not see the tears that gathered 
in his mother’s eyes as she kissed him goodbye 
in the darkness of the early morning; nor did 
Mrs. Judson see the quivering of Paul’s lips as 
he turned away. But Paul heard those tears 



Quitting Hawk's Nest. 


5 


in the “God bless you, my son,” and felt them 
as they seemed to trickle warm upon his very 
heart. Marcus, the younger brother, was not 
without emotion, although on the morrow he 
was to return, bringing back the horses with 
him, after having seen Paul safely at Wilton. 

Ever since the death of his father, Paul had 
realized in a most serious way— for he had al- 
ways been inclined to look upon the substantial 
side of things— the need of the larger manhood. 
When but five or six years of age his mother 
often had occasion secretly to smile at the feel- 
ing of responsibility which one so young as he 
would sometimes show. There was nothing 
within the little cabin, nor around the rugged 
mountain farm, or rather patch, but that Paul 
regarded it as committed to his own safe-keep- 
ing. Since Mrs. Judson had been left a widow, 
this native characteristic of Paul was height- 
ened. As the older son he bore the cares of 
Hawk’s Nest upon his shoulders ; and no ancient 
Atlas carrying the whole world could possibly 
have felt a graver responsibility. 

The journey the two boys were making on the 
morning just described was a tedious one ; and 
for the most part strange to both of them. They 
had therefore been cautioned to waste no time 
but try to reach Wilton before nightfall so that 
they might not lose their way, or be compelled 
to spend a night on the road. Marcus was to 
set out for home again early next morning to 


6 


Paul Judson. 


relieve the mother’s anxiety and loneliness: for 
ever since Mr. Judson ’s untimely death the boys 
had been constantly at home. Indeed, neither 
of them had probably left the little cottage in 
which they were born so much as ten miles be- 
hind them during their entire lives. This trip, 
therefore, marked an epoch in the careers of 
both. 

The hoys had journeyed hut a few miles when 
it began to snow, for the morning opened chilly 
and bleak. Very soon it became evident that 
their plans for a quick trip could not be carried 
out. Already the horses were moving with dif- 
ficulty over the steep, rough road. Night was 
coming swiftly upon the young travelers, and 
for the time of the year, the air was growing 
very chill. Where they would spend the night 
became a question of some concern. Not that 
they doubted for a moment that entertainment 
awaited them somewhere; for in their own 
home, true to the custom of the mountain peo- 
ple, they had never turned the wayfarer from 
their door. The possibility of being refused 
lodging, besides food for themselves and their 
horses, had not even once entered their 
thoughts. The only question was, When shall 
we reach the next house? Will it be before 
darkness causes us to lose our way? 

Their anxiety was soon relieved when, shin- 
ing through the window of a cabin not far from 
the road-side, the flicker of light from a huge 


Quitting Hawk's Nest. 


7 




log fire attracted their attention. Ap- 
proaching and dismounting, the young 
strangers soon found themselves in 
the hands of an old man whose ex- 
terior was as rough as the mountains 
among which he lived; but whose 
heart was as open as the heavens 
above him, and as compassionate as 
the gentle dews upon the tender 
grass. 

“Who he ye?” and “Where be ye 
from ? ’ ’ asked the old man as he turned his rapid 
firing gun of interrogation upon the boys. For 
old Hezekiah Tipton had curiosity quite commen- 
surate with his generosity; and the boys were 
not averse to telling who they were, whence they 
came nor whither they expected to go. Indeed 
much of the family history of the Judsons 
rapidly passed in review. Since newspapers 
seldom bring their lights and shadows to this 
region of mental calm, a conversation of the 
kind was an event to be enjoyed. Paul found 
the old man a stranger, but when the morning 
came he had discovered in his honest host the 
friend he then most needed. 


8 


Paul Judson. 


How little we know when the influence of a life 
may enter our own to help and bless. Like the 
passing of the ships in mid-ocean, we journey 
on, signaling some casual greeting, meeting 
other lives as we steer along— more lives than 
we are aware of— touching them for good or ill. 
Hezekiah Tipton, living a secluded life with his 
only daughter among the rugged hills of east- 
ern Kentucky, probably never knew what he did 
of good for Paul Judson, the youth who just 
then needed a word of cheer to send his life 
forward at a solemn moment, when doubts and 
fears, obstacles real and imaginary, loomed up 
more than mountain high in his pathway. The 
old man himself with no education to speak of, 
encouraged Paul in his purposes, and told him 
of the kind friends he would find, who would not 
only welcome him to Wilton but would sym- 
pathize with him in his struggle for the larger 
life. His words were like a tonic to the young 
man’s soul. They went soothingly to his heart, 
straight as a bird of evening flies to its place 
of rest. Hezekiah Tipton thought of the kind- 
ness he rendered Paul and his brother in terms 



Quitting Hawk's Nest . 


9 


of a night ’s lodging ; but Paul forever after re- 
membered it in the richer language of grateful 
love. 

With accurate directions concerning the road 
which they were yet to go, the boys bade fare- 
well to their new friend, their benign host, and 
soon were on their way again. The drifting of 
the snow during the night had made the road 
difficult to travel and in many places the road- 
bed was obscured. For this reason the time 
consumed upon the journey was quite twice as 
long as might otherwise have been the case. 
The day was now wearing toward the shadows, 
and the town of Wilton was still a few miles 
distant. 

“Why are you lagging behind, Paul?” cried 
Marcus, as he observed that his brother had 
lately allowed his horse to walk slowly along, 
with the bridle hanging loosely over the ani- 
mal’s neck. Paul was now some distance be- 
hind. “Is old Tab giving out?” enquired the 
younger. But though the road had been rough 
and long, and the snow at places had made the 
road most difficult, it was not old Tab so much 
as her rider who was responsible for the slow 
gait. Paul’s mood had become intensely medi- 
tative. Something of uncommon gravity was 
agitating his mind. Indeed the young man 
had been uncommonly quiet along the entire 
journey. At the question of his brother, Paul 
spurred up his horse a little and was soon 


10 


Paul Judson. 


abreast of Marcus. And yet he did not long re- 
main so. He was manifestly engaged in no 
slight struggle. Finally he broke the deep 
silence which had engaged him and called out, 
“Marcus, wait a moment.” His brother observ- 
ing Paul’s serious tone and manner, tightened 
the bridle and waited until Paul was by his side. 

“I will get down here and walk the rest of the 
way; it is only a few miles now;” for coming 
around a curve in the mountain road the boys 
could clearly see the little town lying in the 
foreground. 

“Walk? Why in the world would you do 
that ? ’ 9 

“Never mind,” said Paul, “I prefer to walk; 
mother will wish to have you back as soon as 
possible. You can reach one of the houses we 
saw a few miles back before dark and early to- 
morrow morning you will begin your ride home 
with a large bit of the journey behind you . 9 9 

Neither the protest of Marcus nor the unques- 
tionably sane reasons which he gave why Paul’s 
suggestion of walking to the town should not be 
carried out, was able to avail anything. Paul 
had not given his brother all the reasons which 
lay behind his proposal. The truth was, Paul 
had been struggling with his own soul. He 
wished to burn every possible bridge behind 
him, so that there might be no opportunity for 
him to return to the home which he had left. No 
steps backward! Every temptation to retreat 


Quitting Hawk's Nest . 


11 


must be cut off. Without further discussion 
Paul dismounts, draws the bridle rein over his 
horse’s head, hands it to his brother, who is 
still almost too much surprised to resist Paul’s 
mood. Marcus said a farewell in the most 
manly way he could considering the emotions 
which well-nigh unnerved him, and soon was 
retracing his steps along the road that led home- 
ward. Marcus now turned the spur of the 
mountain and was lost to sight. Paul with his 
bundle of clothing upon his shoulder and a few 
well-worn books, walked briskly toward Wilton. 
The road-way was winding. Below lay the Up- 
per Cumberland. The river like a beautiful 
band of ribbon interlacing itself with the hills 
contributed to the making of a most entrancing 
scene. A weird-looking old mill with its long 
and awkward arms was just to the left, and in 
front was a bridge which added further to the 
picturesqueness of the surroundings. Upon a 
rock upon this roadway Paul at length took his 
seat. The battle which seemed won a few mo- 
ments ago, when he sent his brother and the 
horses on their way homeward, proved but an 
indecisive skirmish. 

Was it possible for him to meet the strangers, 
the professors, the students, with no one to in- 
troduce him, or vouch for him? Would he in 
fact be understood? Would any one be there 
who would care in any way for him ? And then 
all the scholars would no doubt be further ad- 


12 


Paul Judson. 


vanced in their studies than he, and much 
younger. Can he stand the mortification of be- 
ing in classes with mere children, who had had 
better opportunities than he? There were his 
coarse dress, and scanty bag of clothing. Would 
not the boys laugh at his ignorance? And the 
small sum of money— that would soon be ex- 
hausted ; and what could he do if nobody wished 
to hire him between the school hours. Would 
he not be compelled to withdraw in humiliation 
and defeat? And if he should return home, 
would he not be regarded as a coward all his 
life? All these things ran rapidly through the 
brain of our young hero as he sat by the road- 
side and fought out a life-battle. It seemed 
for a few moments that Paul would have re- 
treated if he could ; but Marcus and the horses 
were already well out of hearing; to overtake 
them afoot was clearly out of the question. 

We are not responsible for suggestions to 
surrender in some noble combat; it is not the 
struggle that is blame-worthy but the surrender. 
As Luther said of the birds that fly above one ’s 
head: One is not accountable for their flight, 
but must not let them make their nest in one’s 
hair. Paul Judson was a brave and conscien- 
tious youth. His temptation to give up the 
struggle towards a larger manhood was strong 
but momentary. He arose with new determina- 
tion and crossed the bridge that spanned the 
stream at his feet. The die was cast; and no 



‘•sat by the roadside and fought out life’s battle.” 


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Quitting Hawk's Nest . 


13 


Caesar swam a Rubicon with stronger determi- 
nation, or with nobler ambition than did Paul 
Judson cross that stream, and make his way 
into the town toward which he had set out, on 
yesterday. 

Paul, after crossing the river, was much sur- 
prised and no little cheered by the warm greet- 
ing he received from those who first met him at 
the college. His anticipations of rebuff proved 
groundless. The president himself took the 
young pedestrian who knocked at his door after 
night-fall to be his guest for the night. The 
morrow was to be the time of testing. 




A BACKWARD GLANCE. 

It will not do to forget the little home far back 
in the hills which Paul Jndson had so recently 
turned his back upon. It was out of a stern 
sense of duty he had done this, for he loved that 
humble home, nestled away in the mountains, 
with an almost idolatrous devotion. It was 
there he had first opened his eyes to the clear 
sky, and what to him was better, it was there he 
had seen the overhanging heaven of a mother’s 
smiling face. For with Paul, his mother was 
the very ideal of personal loveliness. No re- 
quest of hers was too difficult to perform; no 
gift too precious to lay at her feet. 


14 


A Backward Glance . 


15 


Mrs. Judson was what might be termed a 
plain woman. She had no special grace in out- 
ward form, and her hands as well as her fea- 
tures spoke in lines that could not he mistaken 
of the days of unceasing toil and the periods of 
deep sorrow through which she had passed. She 
had been the mother of thirteen children, all of 
them boys save one. Only two sons were now 
left to her ; and no Roman Cornelia ever pointed 
to her Gracchi with a prouder heaving of the 
bosom than did Mrs. Judson ; for she recognized 
in her sons her jewels. 

Her husband, who had been dead a full dozen 
years, was a warm-hearted man, of marked in- 
telligence for one of so limited an opportunity. 
His life had been largely spent in a region re- 
mote from the busy marts ; a country where the 
visit of a daily newspaper would have seemed 
almost as strange as would a wireless message 
from the planet Mars appear to the citizens 
of some modern metropolis. Robert Judson 
was not only a man of native good sense, but 
a man of character. He had come of sturdy 
English stock, by way of New England. His 
grandfather was a sea captain engaged in coast 
trade along the Atlantic seaboard, often going 
as far south as the West Indies. This sun- 
burnt old tar, who had weathered many a gale, 
and a score of times had successfully passed 
the storms of Hatteras, was fond of taking with 
him to sea, Robert, his orphan grandson. One 


16 


Paul Judson. 


day, while the captain was busied about the 
cargo of molasses which, at a Cuban port, he 
was loading for the Boston market, the grand- 
son with childish curiosity strayed from the 
vessel, was kidnapped and taken far inland to 
the hill country between Santa Clara and 
Puerto Principe. After two long years of cruel 
labor and untold suffering on Roberta part, 
and of mental anguish on the part of the aged 
Captain Judson— for the distress of the sad in- 
cident hastened his end— the boy made good his 
escape. Reaching Matanzas by the aid of a 
Spanish hidalgo, who treated him most kindly, 
Robert found a United States ship bound for 
Alexandria, Virginia, which in the early days 
of the country was a shipping point of no small 
importance. It was here he heard of the death 
of his grandfather, which had taken place three 
months before. And since Robert had no other 
near relative now living in New England, he de- 
termined as a lad of fourteen, to strike out 
just at the place where he found himself, and to 
carve a life on his own account. 

He was not fond of the water, although some 
of his ancestors had been seamen, time out of 
mind. Robert, however, had none of that 
ancient Saxon love for the sea ; and his late ex- 
perience did not tend to inspire in his childish 
heart a fondness for commerce with distant 
shores. At length, after much waiting and the 
help of newly made friends, the youth secured 


A Backward Glance. 


IT 


employment with a farmer of Virginia, not far 
from where the Shenandoah finds its way into 
the Potomac at the famous Harper’s Ferry. 
From this point the young man began to make 
his way; and each remove found him further 
from the sea. The mountains appeared to 
beckon him onward; the spirit of the hills 
seemed to woo him, alluring him ever to a 
deeper love. Young manhood found him upon 
the estate of a wealthy farmer whose lands 
touched the enchanted knobs of the Blue 
Ridge. 

It was while here that Robert Judson dis- 
covered the woman who was to be his wife. She 
belonged to that vigorous stock of early settlers, 
so many of whom made their way into the cen- 
tral valley and western hills of the Virginias 
and the Carolinas— the Scotch-Irish, who brave- 
ly had entered the new gateway of opportunity 
opened in the great American west to the enter- 
prising and to the persecuted of the Old World. 

Scarcely had the happy honeymoon come to 
an end before the clash of civil war drowned 
the music of peaceful pursuits, and Robert Jud- 
son decided to enter the army. By the heritage 
of blood, as well as by virtue of early environ- 
ment, young Judson believed in the Union and 
had learned to hate slavery before he had ac- 
tually known it. The earliest speeches he had 
ever heard fell from the lips of the intensest 
abolitionists. The first sermons to which as a 


18 


Paul Judson. 


child he had listened, and which he but feebly 
apprehended, had at least left the impression 
upon him that the system of bondage which pre- 
vailed in the states of the South should be 
destroyed. His prejudices had been much 
softened by what he had seen of slavery, and 
yet he was not slow in making up his mind upon 
which side he would choose to fight. Notwith- 
standing the high regard which he felt for the 
kind-hearted and generous men whom he had 
known in Virginia whose estate consisted 
largely of slave-toiled soil, and for whom at 
various times he had himself performed service, 
his early and inherited proclivities conquered. 
Robert Judson made for the front and shoul- 
dered his musket. 

His wife, however, was as ardently Southern 
in her sympathies as he was strongly bent to- 
ward the North. After the close of this great 
civil struggle, during which both the young hus- 
band and the young wife suffered untold hard- 
ships, the two— with a little son who had come 
to them during the father’s absence in battle- 
decided to sell out the small patch of land 
wedged in between hills. The memories of those 
terrible days had grown too sad for endurance. 
They decided to seek a home further west. The 
spirit of the mountains seemed still to entice 
the young husband. Besides, in his regiment 
he had become acquainted with a companionable 
and brave soldier from the mountains of East- 


A Backward Glance. 


19 


era Kentucky who had invited him to take up 
residence among the hills which he himself had 
loved from his infancy. 

By slow stages, for it was not a day of rapid 
transit, there being but few railways to speed 
the homeseeker on his westward way, and none 
along his chosen bath ; few inns to furnish rest 
and refreshment for the weary sojourner; few 
roads, few landmarks of civilization along the 
route ; little to cheer or to advance the traveler ; 
many things to discourage and hinder ; forests, 
floods, steeps, formidable beasts and sometimes 
men made savage by war, in a wagon drawn by 
a yoke of strong oxen, the little family made 
their way westward, following the star of 
empire. 

At last the Judsons reached the humble cot- 
tage of Hiram Clay, Robert Judson’s friend and 
old mess-mate, the fellowship of whose soldier 
life and the earnestness of whose solicitations 
caused the young soldier from the hills of 
western Virginia to come to the mountains of 
Kentucky. And, be it said, there was a lurking 
thought that possibly he would at length pass 
further west to the lands in which Daniel Boone 
had set up the white man’s standard upon the 
Indian’s broad hunting ground. 

On arriving at the hut of Hiram Clay— for it 
was scarcely more— Robert Judson’s heart sank 
within him. Instead of happiness and good 
cheer, which were so often pictured to him by 


20 


Paul Judton. 


his soldier friend as the condition which would 
greet him when he could again reach his wife 
and little ones in the Kentucky mountains there 
were loneliness and gloom. The wife of the 
soldier friend had died before he reached home, 
and the two little ones, victims of the neglect 
which the loss of mother made inevitable, soon 
followed. Hiram, a sad, broken and tired man, 
lost his own hold upon life, and now was 
languishing with a heart sickness which had at 
last undermined his once vigorous health. His 
old friend of the days of storm and stress in the 
army arrived only in time to add a little cheer 
to his ebbing life. 

“This home is yours as long as you choose to 
keep it,” said the dying man. “I have no kin 
whose whereabouts I know— no people to claim 
what little I leave behind of this world’s goods. 
All is yours.” And turning his longing, fevered 
face toward his friend, he added, “Do you know 
how to pray, Robert?” 

Holding the rough hand of the man who in a 
score of battles had touched his shoulder and 
marched forward to the rattle of musketry and 
the din of carnage, Robert Judson tried to pray. 
But the prayer was choked by sobs. Indeed, 
under the most favorable conditions he found 
it hai’d to pray, so little in recent years had he 
practiced the presence of God. 

“You pray, wife,” said Robert. 

The young woman knelt at Hiram’s bedside 


A Backward Glance. 


21 


and offered a most fervent petition that God 
would bless the dying young veteran; that he 
would spare his life if it be in accordance with 
his will ; that God would look kindly over what- 
ever short-comings he might find in the past 
life of one who was about to come into his 
presence; that he would take the self-sacrific- 
ing devotion to his country, the ardent and un- 
selfish love he bore his family, and the faithful 
service he always rendered to his friends, and 
count them for what they might be worth in the 
day of reckoning. Above all, she prayed that 
the dying man might fix his last look upon the 
Christ of Nazareth, who when on earth took 
the hand even of outcasts and sinners, and said, 
“As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilder- 
ness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, 
that whosoever believe th in him should not 
perish but have eternal life.” In this prayer 
Hiram Clay was pointed to a Christ lifted up 
for a world ’s salvation. 

It was a simple-hearted and eloquent plea of 
an earnest soul, whose heart of compassion had 
been deeply touched by the life-story of one 
whom she but lately had seen, but whom she 
knew as an influential factor in her husband’s 
life. The prayer ended. Hiram looked up- 
ward, and soon his soul was with his God. The 
little burying-ground in a clump of trees hard 
by the cottage, where were already three new- 
made graves, was the final resting-place of the 


22 


Paul Judson. 


body of Hiram Clay, soldier, husband and friend. 

The Judsons found themselves unexpectedly 
the possessors of a little home and thirty acres 
of mountain land, in the midst of a wild country 
and a peculiar people to whom they were total 
strangers. Had it not been for Hiram’s sake 
and the little cemetery that had been so tenderly 
placed in his care, Robert Judson and his wife 
would surely have pressed on to seek their 
fortune elsewhere. The land was rocky and 
poor. From it only a scant living at best could 
ever be hoped. But a sentiment that was as 
strong as friendship and as dear as memory 
bound them to the spot. Many a time did con- 
sultations between husband and wife result in 
a determination to pull up the stakes of their 
tent and go to some more promising region. 
Especially was this true when they saw the 
children growing up about them ; the new 
mouths to be fed and the ever growing bodies 
to be clothed. But in the end, the memory of 
one whose life had intertwined with his own 
through four years of tragic struggle; of one 
who at the battle of Shiloh had saved his life at 
the risk of his own, Robert Judson would al- 
ways change his mind just at the time when all 
seemed settled. 

Hiram’s pathetic pointing in the direction of 
the spot where the bodies of his wife and little 
ones rested, at a time when he had become too 
weak to speak, made his friend feel that, some- 


A Backward Glance. 


23 


how r he had been given a sacred trust in a hal- 
lowed moment, a trust which he could not sur- 
render except with the surrender of his own life. 

It was in this way that Paul Judson’s parents 
had come into possession of the home at Hawk ’s 
Nest. 

The account of the eventful years that inter- 
vened between the death of Hiram Clay and 
the departure of our young hero to find his life’s 
preparation ; the legal battles that were fought 
for the possession of Hawk’s Nest, the scant 
tract of land about it and the little cemetery 
which quietly nestled there; the coming of the 
thirteen children to the home ; the death of them 
one by one until only two were left; the hard 
struggle for existence; the perpetual fight to 
keep the wolf and the sheriff from the door ; all 
these must be passed by with but the mention 
of them. 

One event, however, the violent death of 
Robert Judson was of such a character as that 
it must have a place in our history, for it made 
an impression upon Paul’s mind, so deep and 
lasting that no account of his life would be com- 
plete without the sad and thrilling story. 




The morning after the day when 
at nightfall Paul knocked at the 
door of the president and received 
his first impressions of school life 
in Wilton, dawned brightly enough. 
The atmosphere was delightfully 
bracing. A rift here and there on 
the mountain sides was still hold- 
ing fast in its rugged embrace some 
of the snow which had fallen two 
days before, and which glistened in 
the morning sunlight. Where the 
genial sun smote directly the moun- 
1 tain sides, small bits of clouds arose 
amidst the trees and hung silently 
24 


A Day of Testing . 


25 


in the air, as if caught and held from beneath 
in the strong arms of the oaks. All the natural 
surroundings seemed to speak cheeringly to the 
young man as he looked out of the window of 
President Holden’s in the early morning, and 
wondered what a day might bring forth in the 
fulfillment of his long cherished desires. 

Paul was a remarkable combination of in- 
tense ambition for better things, and the natural 
timidity due to the clear discernment of his own 
limitations. He was ignorant of many things 
which he was conscious a young man of his age 
would be expected to know. The truth is, he 
had lacked opportunity. And while he knew 
this to be no disgrace, his sensitive nature 
felt the misfortune keenly. The burdens thrown 
upon his young shoulders by the death of his 
father ; the mortgage which had been left upon 
the little mountain patch ; the hard struggle, till 
every cent was paid— all this had given the 
youth uncommon strength of moral fibre. It 
had steadied him, had clarified his vision of the 
highest good and forever seemed like a force 
from behind, urging him to press forward to- 
ward still vague, but unmistakably vaster issues. 

Does not the divine Hand often lead the 
youth, as Jehovah led the children of Israel, 
“by ways they know not?” Paul on the day he 
reached college was as uncertain of what his 
life was to be as some new-born infant nestling 
in the bosom of mother love. And yet he was 


26 


Paul Judson. 



as clear and unshakable in his pur- 
pose to make something of himself 
as though the whole plan of his life 
had been set down before him as ac- 
curate as the drawings of an archi- 
tect. 

Many of the best lives are like 
Solomon’s temple, begun far back in 
the forests out of stuff like the 
ft cedars of Lebanon; and silently, 
without sound of axe or of hammer, 
is the building reared. While be- 
hind all is the great, invisible Archi- 
tect, whose master mind works out 
the plan, giving to his workmen 
strength and skill. 

So Paul Judson was being shaped, 
as he himself could not but believe, 
for some unmistakable purpose; one he could 
not yet discern, but in which he had at least a 
latent faith. 

After breakfasting at the table of President 
Holden, and sincerely hoping his awkwardness 
had not led him into any serious breach of pro- 


A Day of Testing. 


27 


priety, Paul was told to come into the presi- 
dent’s office precisely at nine o’clock. There 
were some matters of discipline that needed at- 
tention first. The president of Marton College, 
though a very gentle man, with a heart as big 
as a boulder but as soft as a woman’s, had an 
eye as keen as an eagle’s to detect wrong- 
doing ; and his method of dealing with it was as 
swift and decisive as the eagle’s flight. It was 
never safe to trifle with the president of Marton. 
To the wrong-doer he was a terror; but to the 
conscientious, struggling youth he was as father 
and mother in one. For this reason, Paul soon 
found that underneath Mr. Holden’s dignified 
reserve, he had discovered a friend. 

i ‘ Well, young man,” said the president, in the 
quick, business-like fashion that characterized 
him, 4 ‘ what are you here for?” 

“To get an education, sir,” said Paul, some- 
what timidly, as if he scarcely knew whether he 
should be so bold as even to hope for such a 
consummation. But knowing within his soul 
of souls that his present and his sole purpose 
in coming to Wilton, was to make a man of him- 
self, he replied as he felt, and let the answer 
rest there. 

“What have you been studying?” inquired 
Mr. Holden. 

‘ 1 1 haven ’t been to school very much, sir. We 
had no good school in our neighborhood at 
home. The one we had was open only two or 


28 


Paul Judson. 


three months in the year and I have had to 
work so hard to pay off the mortgage and to 
get ready to come here that I had to get most 
of my book-learning by myself at night. But if 
you are willing to give me a trial, I think I 
can learn. 

“I can read tolerably well and write a little. 
I can cipher in simple figures and have been 
through Murray’s small geography,” said Paul, 
recognizing how little his store of knowledge 
was in comparison with the limitless informa- 
tion on every subject, which he thought the 
president of a college must of course have. Paul 
noticed, too, a change come over the face of the 
president as the inventory of his meagre educa- 
tional stock was disclosed. 

“How old are you!” 

“I was twenty years old last March.” 

“I do not wish to discourage you, young man, 
but for the life of me, I don’t see where we 
can put you. Would it not be better for you to 
go home and try to get a little further advanced 
in the elementary studies before undertaking 
the work here! This is a college.” 

Paul’s courage fell swift as a thunderbolt at 
these unexpected words. Was it possible that 
his ambition and struggles were to go for 
naught, and his hopes tumble like a house of 
sand after years of waiting! The words of 
President Holden came like lead upon his sad- 
dened heart. He could almost hear the dull 


A Day of Testing. 


29 


sound, as of one fallen in an instant from a 
mountain peak of joyous expectancy to the 
valley of despair. Tears welled up, and began 
to overflow his sunburnt cheeks. 

The president quickly noticed the young 
man’s disappointment. His emotion was sin- 
cere and deep. But what was to be done! The 
session was already far under way, even if 
there had been classes into which the newcomer 
could enter with advantage. 

1 ‘ Only give me a chance,” said Paul, implor- 
ingly, “and I promise you I’ll study hard.” 

At the pathos of the situation the president 
himself was deeply moved. He had talked with 
many young men, but never had he met one ap- 
parently more in earnest. 

“I will find you a room which you may oc- 
cupy temporarily,” said President Holden. “I 
shall see you again to-morrow. Then I shall 
be better able to determine what is best for 
you.” 

It is needless to say that the information that 
there was absolutely no place in the college for 
Paul came as the severest blow of his life. 
Heavy-hearted he left the office of the president, 
like one going out into the dark. Will there he 
a friendly hand to direct? “Does night bring 
out the stars?” inquired Paul’s heart at this 
critical moment in his young life. “Will light 
break for me anywhere?” 

“I’ll do my best, I’ll do my best,” were the 


30 


Paul Judson. 


words that repeatedly welded up in his bosom, 
and occasionally found muffled expression in 
the motion of his lips. What Paul wanted now 
was only a chance to do his best. Up to that 
moment he had done the best he knew. Now he 
was patiently awaiting the morrow. 

When our young mountaineer retired that 
night, there was not lacking a degree of un- 
certainty and solicitude of a kind he had not 
felt before. The suspense due to the morning’s 
conversation with Mr. Holden was surely bur- 
den enough upon this young seeker after the 
fountain of truth. But a trial of quite a dif- 
ferent character was to be added. A kindly 
stranger, one of the students, who seemed to 
see in Paul a worthy object of his sympathy, 
or to divine in him some unusual worth— tapped 
him quietly upon his shoulder and whispered: 

“Lock your door well tonight.” No wizard’s 
words, ‘ ‘ Beware the Ides of March, ’ ’ could have 
fallen more solemnly on Paul’s ears. He had, 
however, already understood that the custom 
of hazing was not unknown at Wilton, and that 
the great toe of the “f reshy” was not spared 
the penalty of belonging to one who for the first 
time had stepped within the classic influence of 
Marton College. This was a very ancient and 
honorable institution, this toe-pulling. It had 
survived amid the sequestered shades of Mar- 
ton, when from many another institution of 
similar character it had long since passed into 




























































































“He will not suffer thy foot to be moved.” 






A Day of Testing. 


31 


tlie limbo of deceased custom, or given way to 
methods more refined. 

Before throwing himself upon the cot for the 
night, in the room which had been temporarily 
selected for him by Mr. Holden, Paul took out 
of his bag a well-worn book. A few years be- 
fore he had procured it from a colporter who 
had visited Hawk’s Nest. He opened the holy 
volume at random, and somewhat languidly, 
for so many things were distracting his tired 
brain that no further impressions seemed pos- 
sible. The book fell open at the one hundred 
and twenty-first psalm ; and at once Paul ’s eye 
rested upon the verse, “He will not suffer thy 
foot to be moved. He that keepeth thee will 
not slumber.” 

It was what men call accident that the book 
fell open at this beautiful “song of ascent,” 
used by the children of Israel in their pil- 
grimages, but there was comfort for Paul in 
the coincidence— and who can say that it was 
only a coincidence? He closed the book and 
locked carefully his door, being taught to be- 
lieve with the soldier who trusted in God and 
kept his powder dry. He was soon fast asleep. 

The day had truly been a trying one for Paul. 
A less courageous soul might have been ready 
to surrender. Besides, much to his surprise he 
had passed on the campus that morning a young 
man whose face had attracted his attention be- 
cause of a strange familiarity. On second 


82 


Paul Judson. 


thought, he was assured that the student was 
the son of the man at whose hands his father 
met his end. The death of Robert Judson was 
one of the noteworthy tragedies in this region 
of tragedy. 


IV. 


A FATAL SHOT. 

The history of the mountain feud occupies an 
extended chapter in the annals of this interest- 
ing section. It is not that the mountain people 
are worse than others. They are far from being 
bullies and murderers. And yet who does not 
know that the family quarrel, often drawn out 
to the third and fourth generation has been not 
an uncommon feature of life in the Kentucky 
mountains. Nor is this altogether a matter of 
wonder. Restlessness under the restraint of 
the calm and settled life of the Eastern Tide- 
water led many who were of more daring spirit 
to press westward to the Alleghanies. “The 
mountaineer loves freedom’ ’ passed into a 
proverb, and at length was adopted as a motto 
of the mountain state cut off from Virginia dur- 
ing the Civil War. There is no place in the 
world where pure individualism is more pro- 
33 


34 


Paul Judson. 


nounced than in the mountains. In the early 
days when Kentucky was a part of the Old 
Dominion it was generally impracticable to con- 
vey those arrested for crime to the ancient 
capital at Williamsburg to be tried and pun- 
ished. By a sort of hard-handed necessity it 
became the custom for offenses to be sum- 
marily dealt with by those having first-hand 
interest in the punishment of the offender. The 
blood-avenger of the old Hebrew commonwealth 
appeared again in this rugged western land, 
without the cities of refuge or the home of 
Jehovah’s altar. Because of this, the due process 
of law in those early times fell somewhat into 
disuse, and decade upon decade has not been 
sufficient to see the death of this influence, nor 
to destroy the tradition of the ‘ 4 dark and bloody 
ground.” The family feud is the child of those 
early conditions of hardship and struggle. 

Robert Judson, Paul’s father, was always a 
man of peace. Withal he was of exceptional 
good-will toward his fellowmen. It was strange 
enough that he should be the victim of the 
deadly feud. Judson was a new-comer to that 
rugged land; but a few years before he was 
numbered among the “furriners.” 

The Clays, a family of which Hiram Clay was 
the last survivor, and the Bertrams had been 
at enmity for time out of mind. These were 
among the ‘ ‘ first families” of this land of 
magnificent disturbances, for some of them 


A Fatal Shot. 


35 


boasted, whether correctly or not no one knew, 
that they came across the divide “ ahead o’ 
Boone.’ ’ Both of these families were once quite 
numerous in Perry county, but one after an- 
other on each side had perished at the hand of 
an assassin from the other clan. Hiram, the 
last scion of the Clays, had died a natural death, 
much to the disappointment and chagrin of the 
surviving Bertrams. Lust for vengeance ate 
like a polluting canker in their hearts. 

When the stranger, Robert Judson, with his 
family appeared in the community, and became 
successor to Hiram Clay at Hawk’s Nest, the 
Bertrams seemed to lose no opportunity to pick 
a quarrel with him, that they might if possible, 
drive him from the country. The Judsons went 
quietly on their way, neither seeking nor avoid- 
ing the unreasonable malice of the Bertrams. 
Rather did Robert Judson, when occasion of- 
fered, play the role of peace-maker. Bob Jud- 
son was always known in the community to 
stand for a fair deal. His fairness and love 
of quiet seemed to exasperate rather than soften 
the blind antagonism of the Bertrams. Bent on 
doing wrong, they found in a correct life but 
a standing rebuke to their wicked designs. This 
their hardened hearts violently resented con- 
tinually. The coals of fire which several times 
were heaped upon their heads could be effectual 
in melting the wicked purpose of the evil 
minded, only as the Spirit of God might sue- 


86 


Paul Judson . 


ceed at the same time in melting the stubborn 
heart. But the Bertrams were obdurate and 
withal cowards. 

The hatred of some of the rougher element in 
the community against Bob Judson was height- 
ened because for several years he had held the 
position of Government Marshal. His life 
path, therefore, was not strewn with roses, but 
with— Winchesters. In his office he had done 
his duty ; in the discharge of which he knew no 
fear, and courted no favor. He was untutored 
enough in the ways of had citizenship to regard 
a public office as a divine trust. The lawless 
secretly dreaded him, but at times they openly 
defied him. The law-abiding loved him for the 
friends he had lost. Robert Judson was as severe 
upon the wrong-doer among his near neighbors 
as among the unknown law-breakers of the dis- 
tant mountain hollows. 

More than once had he been fired upon by the 
moonshiner, whose deadly aim seldom misses 
its mark. Once had his old wool hat been neatly 
punctured by a rifle ball, and twice had he re- 
ceived dangerous wounds from which he but 
gradually recovered. 

The moonshining mountaineer regards the 
federal laws which put the free distilling of his 
“mountain dew” under the ban not only as an 
impertinence but a vile oppression. 

“Why is it not right to do as I please with 
apples of my own raising 


A Fatal Shot . 


37 


With this deep conviction he proceeds to make 
them into apple brandy, and dispose of the 
product of his still as he may find opportunity. 
To him, therefore, Uncle Sam is a high-handed 
and merciless robber when he comes to collect the 
tax; and the officials he sends to these regions 
of 'perpetual dew are spies and intruders, who 
must be got rid of at all cost. Being unable to 
take the larger view of the governments rela- 
tion to the traffic in spirits, the moonshiner sees 
in the presence of the revenue officer only 
tyranny and oppression. 

One morning Jett Bertram appeared at the 
door of the J udson home and with an oath called 
out, “Bob Judson, len’ me one o’ yer plows/ ’ 

“I have only one good plow and that is over 
at Nick Frazier ’s,” replied Robert Judson, as 
he pointed in the direction of a neighbor’s. At 
the same time he noticed as his eyes glanced 
toward the road that fifty yards away stood 
Bertram White, a friend and cousin of Jett 
Bertram, leaning against a rifle. It looked as 
if the men had come for no other purpose than 
to pick a quarrel. 

“You’re lying, you old hypocrite. You’ve 
got no business in this country, anyhow,” said 
Bertram, and his eyes flashed threatening fire. 
It was manifest too that the man was full of 
liquor, for the groggery is chief confederate to 
the feud. 

“Now, Jett Bertram, I want you to under- 


38 


Paul Judson. 


stand” —quietly began Robert Judson, but be- 
fore he could finish the sentence, Bertram drew 
a six-shooter from his pocket and deliberately 
fired into Judson ’s breast. The man fell at the 
first shot, for Bertram was practiced with fire 
arms, and was known as a cool and deliberate 
man. Standing over his victim he emptied his 
revolver into the body of the prostrate man; 
though Robert Judson could not possibly have 
lived more than an instant after the first shot. 

Mrs. Judson with her two boys, the younger 
clinging to her skirts, stood in the cottage door 
and saw her husband brutally murdered. The 
two assassins hurriedly made their escape along 
the mountain road and through the brush. In 
a moment they were lost to her view. 

They laid the body of Robert Judson away in 
the little burying ground, as near as possible to 
the spot where rested the mortal part of Hiram 
Clay. It was here that a light broke upon the 
soul of Mrs. Judson. She turned to the house 
in the midst of the desolation of her home and 
the desperation of her heart, resolving that if 
God spared her and her children, she would not 
only teach them not to avenge the death of their 
foully murdered father, but to set themselves 
like flint against the spirit of lawlessness which 
lay behind the many outbreaks of violence and 
which was cursing the community like a plague. 
To this she consecrated her life anew. 

Robert Judson had been a brave man and 


A Fatal Shot. 


39 


true. On the fatal morning when he fell at the 
crack of the Bertram “gun,” remote fastnesses 
of the mountains sounded with gleeful echo. To 
the product of the mountain still, in no small 
measure, may be attributed the fact that the 
two men appeared at the cabin where Robert 
Judson lived with his honest, humble family on 
the dreadful day of the shooting, and heart- 
lessly murdered an innocent and faithful man. 

The horrible circumstances of Robert Jud- 
son ’s death at Hawk’s Nest bore their fruitage. 
Indeed, the growth of the sentiment against the 
sale of intoxicants has so steadily grown in the 
region of the mountains that there is scarcely 
a county in that whole section of Kentucky 
where the groggery has not been outlawed and 
even the illicit sale of whisky to a good degree 
banished. This has been not a little due to just 
such scenes as that enacted before the Judson 
cabin. Thus is the serpent being strangled in 
the land of the mountaineer. 



40 


Paul Judson. 


The Judson boys, hearing so often the word 
“Obey,” and seeing it sternly exemplified in 
their father as he fearlessly followed the law of 
duty, grew up with a respect for authority 
which almost amounted to worship. And as for 
Mrs. Judson,— she never lost an opportunity to 
let the boys know that their father’s death was 
a part of the fearful harvest sown by the hand 
of a monster. 

“O my land, I love thee still,” the good 
woman was accustomed to say, “but I do not 
love thy stills.” 

Mrs. Judson was, for her opportunities in 
life, a remarkable woman. She had an acute 
and thoughtful mind, though her schooling 
had been meager. There was in her make- 
up an unusual proportion of common sense. 
She possessed a genius for getting at the soul 
of things. She saw in the sad loss of her hus- 
band, a possible gateway opening for her boys. 
Out of disorder and lawlessness she seemed to 
discover law and peace born like the fabled 
eagle from the ashes. “Obedience” was the 
keynote which she struck. By this, Paul’s life 
had been guided ; for of all the words in 
the rather moderate vocabulary of the Judson 
home, this word became the most frequent and 
meaningful. “To disobey is to be an outlaw,” 
she used to say to the boys. In her limited 
sphere, she had discerned that were there more 
mothers with an intuition for the sanctity of 


A Fatal Shot. 


41 

law there would be less anarchy abroad in the 
land. She seemed, like a prophetess, to divine 
that the sphere of political life and the realm 
of religion as well, would feel a new spirit of 
hopefulness and of health. The boys were 
brought up on the strong meat of obedience . 

There seems to be a keen satire in the words 
which may be to-day read by one who visits the 
spot where the body of Robert Judson is buried. 
Upon a plain wooden slab which marks his rest- 
ing place are the words: “Blessed are the 
peacemakers.” 

The whole life of this obscure hero had been^ 
spent in making peace in a community of 
restive, turbulent men with whom his lot had 
been cast. And yet because of it he had lost 
his life. To the casual observer nothing seems 
so thankless as the task of the peacemaker; in 
fact, it appears far from blessed, as the beati- 
tude of the Master proclaims it. Well does he 
disclose the nature of this blessedness in the 
words, “They shall be called the children of 
God.” 

It is certain that no single event, not even 
the fact that Paul was compelled to assume 
grave responsibilities at a tender age, had had 
so much to do with giving shape to his char- 
acter and his subsequent career as the fact that 
his father had met his death through cowardice 
and gross lawlessness. If his mother did not 
succeed in instilling into his breast respect for 


42 


Paul Judson. 


authority, and in sending him out from her 
hearthstone a champion of law, it was not the 
fault of this faithful woman. Under more 
favorable conditions she might have been an in- 
tellectual and social queen; as indeed, in her 
spirit and character, she was 
queenly. Matilda Judson demon- 
strated the truth that queens are 
not all in palaces, with liveried 
slaves to come at beck or call. 

The kind hearts that are more 
than coronets, the simple faith, 
that is more than Norman blood, 
are better indexes of royalty than 
pomp and splendor dazzling the 
world. 

There is compensation in that 
Mrs. Judson ’s lack of opportuni- 
ties for culture was one with the 
simple living, the heroic sacrifices, 
the reposeful quiet, which made 
Hawk’s Nest the nest of young 
eagles. It is out of such homes 
that our greatest men come. 





iV. 


THE NEW HAZING. 

When Paul awakened after his first lonely 
night in the dormitory, he found things much 
as he had left them on retiring. His appre- 
hension of a hazing episode had proved 
groundless; at least so far as the first night 
was concerned. What might come to him in 
the future, he did not dare to guess, though 
his quick mountain eyes gave him some appre- 
hensions. 

The time for Paul’s appointed meeting with 
President Holden came. It was an anxious mo- 
ment with the young man, for a lion seemed to 
be in the road of his aspirations. Like many 
another of life’s enemies, however, this lion 
proved to be chained. President Holden had 
found a place for Paul; but he had some mis- 
givings as to whether one rapidly approaching 
manhood would be willing to take the place as- 
signed him. Remotely connected with Marton 
College there was a primary department in 
which children of the village were taught the 
43 


u 


Paul Judson. 


elementary branches, “the three R’s— reading, 
’riting and ’rithmetic. 9 ’ Among these children, 
who ranged from seven to twelve years of age, 
Paul is placed. But even now he does not for 
a moment falter. True, he feels keenly a cer- 
tain sense of humiliation, or rather a blow to 
his natural pride, in thus being classed with 
those much younger than himself ; and a loneli- 
ness, as well, in that he could scarcely suppose 
that either the children who recited with him, 
or the students in the college classes could enter 
sympathetically into his life. 

He worked on manfully, determined that he 
would make himself respected through his 
merits as a student. Never once did he shrink. 
He had accomplished hard tasks before he left 
home. He could achieve success at books. 
Obedient to the inner call to higher things he 
pressed toward the goal. It was not long be- 
fore the children who at first held their hands 
over their faces to hide the merriment incited 
by Paul’s age and awkwardness, began to look 
serious when Paul began to outstrip them in 
the daily tasks. His pluck won for him many 
admirers, and his demeanor toward all made 
friends on every hand. The tide of adversity 
began to turn and to roll in upon him, bear- 
ing blessings. When wearied of his work, and 
some tempting thought would whisper “It is 
too late,” or say “You are too old to begin so 
low,” he would repeat to himself a line or two 


The New Hazing . 45 

of some verses he had one day stumbled upon 
in the library : 

“It is too late! Ah, nothing is too late 

Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate; 

Cato learned Greek at eighty!” 

“At eighty ?” thought the youth; and 
“ Greek the meaning of which word he but 
vaguely grasped. “If one could do that at 
eighty, may I not at twenty learn something 
that will help me to be a man?’ ’ Every day 
for a week he would go to the library and con 
over the names of those in the poem who, when 
old men, had begun new subjects and under- 
taken new tasks, and had gloriously succeeded, 
showing, 

“How far the gulf stream of our Youth may flow 
Into the arctic regions of our lives, 

Where little else than life itself survives.” 


“How much more then may I, Paul Judson, 
just turned twenty, undertake at least a little ? ’ ’ 
So the young man began heroically to climb 
the ladder from the lowest rungs. Paul had in 
him, with all his crude exterior, much of that 
divine grandeur which is often so nigh to human 
dust, as that its faintest whisper of duty is 
translated into noblest undertaking. 

The first impulse of the students toward Paul 
was to make him the butt of their jokes, and to 


46 


Paul Judson. 


turn his manifest ignorance of college ways into 
fun for themselves and a corresponding discom- 
fiture for their temporary victim. A mere ac- 
cident had prevented the toe-pullers from ac- 
complishing their purposes on the first night 
which Paul spent in the dormitory. For this, 
Paul had been graciously thankful, and was 
now beginning to feel at home in his new sur- 
roundings. 

During one afternoon ’s study hour when Paul 
was sitting in his room with his head bending 
diligently over his book, Tom Rogers, one of 
the students, entered without ceremony and 
stood flat-footed in the center of the room. Paul 
had already learned to know Tom Rogers as 
the student who had won the distinction of be- 
ing first in all the college mischief. If the 
tower bell should wake up some morning with 
a sore throat, unable to ring out the call to 
prayers except in a muffled, husky voice, all 
would at once think that possibly Tom knew 
something of how that time-honored servant 
caught its cold. If a door should some morning 
be found broken down or a window smashed, 
the boys, and the faculty, too, would wonder 
where Tom Rogers was the night before. 

Behind the sturdy youth who had thus in- 
vaded the sanctity of Paul’s castle stood six 
other boys who so admired Tom that they were 
willing to follow him even into the dubious bog 
of college disorder. Tom was a fine-looking, 




“I command you * * * to rise without delay, and 
follow me.” 



47 


The New Hazing . 

athletic chap, a Junior, of eighteen years, as 
impulsive and as generous in his inner soul as 
any youth in the land, even if his love of fun did 
sometimes lead him into the forbidden path. He 
was not mean. He never lied. In truth, he 
hated a sneak with cordial warmth. Whenever 
his exuberant spirits brought him into the toils 
of the college law, he never tried to shirk re- 
sponsibility, nor to lay the blame upon others. 
Rather would he come boldly forward without 
flinching and make good any da'mage which he 
had occasioned. Had there not been much of 
the gentleman in his make-up, his stay at Wil- 
ton would probably have been short-lived. 

“Paul Judson,” said he, in stentorian voice, 
and with a stiff, solemn mien, ‘ 4 1 command you 
in the name of your superiors, to rise without 
delay, and follow me.” 

“So say we all of us!” came in concert from 
the coterie behind him, in a tone of much af- 
fected dignity. 

Paul at first looked up with evident surprise. 
He was no coward, and yet had a native gump- 
tion, which saved him from many early blunders 
in his college life. “Obey the captain” was a 
motto he had long ago learned in the serious 
game of his earlier life. But, was Tom Rogers, 
with his intruding cohort, the captain? That 
was the question. PauPs first impulse was to 
disregard the effrontery of the invaders and 
decline to budge. 


48 


Paul Judson. 


“Follow me, I say,” was repeated by the 
leader with louder, and if possible, with sterner 
voice than before. 

Paul had been accustomed to take care of 
himself from early youth. There was not an 
'ounce of poltroon in his one hundred and fifty 
pounds of bone and sinew. With great good 
humor and much coolness, born of his courage, 
Paul arose deliberately, put on his hat and 
followed the enemy till they had safely landed 
their prize in a room at the remote end of the 
lower hall-way. The boys proceeded to make a 
rather sickly attempt at a mock trial. 

“Paul Judson,” said the temporized bailiff, 
“you are charged with the crime of grinding 
your study-mill an unlawful number of hours, 
thus entrenching upon the rights and con- 
sciences of other students, with malice afore- 
thought and against the peace and dignity of 
Marton College.” 

There was much awkward cross-questioning 
of witnesses and Paul was manifestly getting 
the worst of the procedure, judging from the 
testimony. With tactful good humor the 
prisoner, when he himself was placed in the 
witness box, pleaded infancy as his defence, 
referring suggestively to his being classed with 
younger children in his studies. This proved a 
master-stroke, and excited the highest admira- 
tion of all present in the improvised court- 
room. 


The New Hazing . 49 

For nearly an hour Paul was detained in the 
custody of the court. The jury retired and soon 
returned with their verdict. 

i ‘ Paul Judson, stand up. You are sentenced 
by the court to return to your cell immediately 
and begin a solid hour of hard labor.” 

Surprised at being thus released, Paul made 
his way back to his own quarters, followed at a 
distance by the boys who had just had him in 
their judicial clutches. He flung open the door, 
and with astonished eyes he discovered some- 
thing wrong. He looked again at the number 
on the outside of the door. It was “146.” 
“This is certainly the room I left just a little 
while ago, ’ ’ he thought. There could be no mis- 
take either as to the number or the location of 
the room. And yet in place of the bare floor 
there was a rug of bright red; instead of the 
unpainted poplar table, and a single oak chair 
that sat near it in the center of the room, there 
appeared a neat oak table, two chairs, one of 
which was a comfortable, though not costly, 
rocker. There sat a washstand, bowl and 
pitcher, instead of the soap- box and tin basin 
which Paul had procured with his meager 
purse; and with all, a good iron bedstead in 
place of an antiquated second-hand affair which 
our young mountaineer had purchased at small 
cost. 

The boys now crowded around, in larger num- 
bers than in the court scene just closed, to see 


50 


Paul Judson. 


the fun. Paul ’s face was a study. It was some 
moments before he could take in the situation. 
The faces of the boys, bright and beaming, dis- 
closed the entire plot. While one section of the 
conspirators was attracting his attention in the 
crude judicial procedure the other was busy 
moving Paul’s modest effects from his room 
and putting in their place the new furnishings 
which they had purchased by adding together 
their small contributions. 

Marton College had never before known a 
case of hazing like this one. It is certain that 
no college ever witnessed one in which those 
who engaged in it derived so much genuine and 
lasting pleasure. 

No man after having done some generous 
deed is the same person he was before, and Tom 
Rogers on the day of this new hazing scrape 
felt the crust of his former self-hood crack to 
make room for a larger Tom Rogers. There 
was not a single member of the secret con- 
spiracy— and there were nearly a score of them 
—who did not feel proud of his part in the little 
incident. They had discovered already in Paul 
a large soul, with earthly belongings far too 
scant; and they proceeded to even things up a 
little with their fellow student, who not many 
days before had come among them. 

The news of what had been done at room 146 
soon spread throughout the entire student body. 
The faculty even discussed the episode at the 


The New Hazing . 


51 


next faculty meeting, and the entire life at Mar- 
ton College was enriched by the transaction. 
From that time forward it became increasingly 
difficult for anything mean to occur within the 
precincts of college life, or the rights of others 
encroached upon by the thoughtless. As one 
said of Clerk Maxwell, “He made it easier for 
those about him to love goodness/ ’ so the noble 
transaction at Marton made it forever easier 
to be good, not only for the chief actors, but 
also the observers of the deed. 

Marton College belongs to a class of institu- 
tions known as “the small college.’ ’ Kepre- 
sentatives from the larger institutions (who 
sometimes touch at Wilton on their athletic 
tours into the South at the time of the year 
when the climate of the North is still too 
rigorous for outdoor practice) speak of Marton 
rather contemptuously as “a fresh-water col- 
lege.” But for wholesomeness of tone and in- 
spiring enthusiasm for study, Marton is an 
ideal seat of learning. It meets the demands 
made upon it, having adapted itself to its situa- 
tion and the needs of those who put themselves 
under its care. Its light shines through the 
gorges of the mountains, reflecting blessings all 
about and uplifting a multitude of homes which 
would otherwise find little outlook upon life. 
The teachers, earnest, self-sacrificing lovers of 
truth, come into a closer fellowship with the 
students than would be possible were the num- 


52 


Paul Judson. 


ber of young men and women two thousand in- 
stead of two hundred. Thus come the compen- 
sations in the small college as everywhere in 
God’s universe. We give up one good and get 
another. 

The session wore on toward the middle. Paul 
was making his way quietly and steadily into a 
place of recognition. Even this 
hazing incident and the dignified 
manner in which Paul bore it won 
for him a regard among the stu- 
dents which was cordial and 
sincere. But other circumstances 
were to arise to test the mettle of 
our young mountaineer. Every 
new test is a new refi: ing. It is 
the presence of the dross that 
weakens the texture of the metal. 

Hammering, too, gives pliability, 
and pliability is often an element 
of strength. Paul’s metal must 
pass into the crucible. 



VI. 

THE SEAT OF POWER. 

‘ * This college business’ll go to Paul’s brain 
yet,” was the muttered word of Marcus, as he 
turned the horses in the direction of Hawk’s 
Nest. The sudden and most unusual farewell 
Paul had given his brother by the roadside, 
when he concluded to burn the bridges behind 
him made a deep impression on Marcus’ mind. 

“I’m mighty ’fraid he’ll go crazy yet about 
an education. It’s been college for breakfast, 
college for dinner, and college for supper— let 
alone the snacks he’s served up to us between 
meals. Now he’s there, I hope to goodness 
he’ll like it,” mused the youth, audibly, as he 
jogged along, with no other companion with 
whom to ease his mind save the two horses, 
“Old Mat” which he rode, and Paul’s late faith- 
ful but silent partner in the mountain patch, 
Tab, the sorrel. But even these were a com- 
fort, for the way was a lonely one. Few stops 
were made even for rest. But how could Marcus 
resist the temptation of stopping for a while 
53 


54 


Paul Judson. 


under the roof of happy old Hezekiah Tipton 
who had so cheered the boys and refreshed 
them the day before, as they journeyed toward 
Wilton? Hezekiah was an optimistic soul. 
Many a time had he inspired hope into those 
much younger than himself by his cheery 
spirits. He had little “book larnin’ ” but 
much mother-wit. “Hit’s heep easier to go 
a smilin’ than to wear yer hemmed side out,” 
was his doctrine. 

Youth is the period of life when men are most 
hopeful, because it is then that both physical 
and mental digestion is better ; there have come 
fewer failures to discourage, fewer persons 
have proved false or disappointed men’s ex- 
pectations of them, faith in the future is still 
unimpaired, brighter skies are shining over- 
head, and the wonders of the world about have 
not lost their subtle inspiration. 

‘ 4 The yearth will alius hev a place in hit fur 
a feller uth grit,” said Hezekiah, “and that ’er 
youngster that uz with yer when yer passed 
along yisterdy is got stuff in him, I should 
jedge, er ole Hez is a-dreamin’.” 

“ ’Taint whut a man haz, but how his heart 
beats, that tells the man.” This was a bit of 
the homely philosophy to which Hezekiah Tip- 
ton treated his young guest; and bade him 
goodbye with a rough tap on his knee as he 
handed over to him the bridle of the horse that 
was to be led homeward. 




“Marcus told the whole story.” 


55 


The Seat of Power . 

Marcus had scarcely come in sight of home 
when he saw an apron waving for him at the 
door of the cabin, beyond which the red sun 
was setting behind the knob. Mrs. Judson was 
on the watch for the returning lad. 

“Mark,” she called out, “tell me all about it, 
my boy. You left Paul safely placed at Wil- 
ton?” 

“Oh yes, mother, Paul is all right, but my 
fingers are as cold as icicles. Is there any fire 
to warm them by?” 

“Come right into the house, Mark, the oak 
logs are fairly blazin’ you a welcome.” 

Before the hearth, in the cabin at Hawk’s 
Nest, Marcus told the whole story, every detail 
of which was eagerly drunk in by the fond 
mother. Far into the night when Marcus was 
fast asleep, Mrs. Judson turned over and over 
in her bed, thinking throughout the silent hours 
of her boy at Wilton and counting the days 
which would elapse before she might expect a 
letter from his hand. 

The little home at Hawk’s Nest was no 
modern mansion. Yes, bless you, it was a 
palace. Princes do not make palaces. There 
was no brick, nor stone except the unhewn rock 
that went into the rough chimney which adorned 
the outside of the cabin. Plain boards, (which 
looked as if they might have upon them the 
ear-marks of Hiram Clay’s own hewing from 
the nearby mountain side), covered the logs 


56 


Paul Judson. 



which formed the frame-work 
of the house of the Judsons. 
There was the sloping roof 
and the little front porch, sup- 
ported by three rough col- 
umns and a little back addi- 
tion for kitchen and dining 
room. In summer the gourd- 
vine, a common mark of the 
mountain home, grew in front ; 
and the well a few steps away, 
with a pulley; and the old 
oaken bucket gave to the 
humble cottage a rude pictur- 
esqueness and a comfort which 
spoke of industry and con- 
tentment. 

“Boys,” Mrs. Judson used 
to say, “there’s much mis’ry 
in the world, get all the hap- 
piness out of it you can; and 
the best way to be happy is to 
be contented, goin’ about your 


The Seat of Power. 


57 


business as if ’twas your chief delight to turn 
this earth into an Eden. ’ 7 

Mrs. Judson was not by any means an illit- 
erate woman. In her younger years she had at- 
tended a village school in Western Virginia 
where she was brought up. There were then 
no public schools in that region, but being a 
bright child of a respected small farmer she 
had been sent to a neighborhood school of good 
standing. This she had done for parts of sev- 
eral sessions. 

But her married life had been one of struggle 
—a care for bread and butter, and for the 
babies. Books, therefore, could not be added 
as another ‘ ‘ B ’ 7 to this trinity of stern realities. 
There were few books to be had at Hawk’s Nest, 
even though the mother of the young Judsons 
had found the time to indulge in such a pastime 
of luxury. But in the midst of her plain living 
she kept her mind quite bright with high think- 
ing. 

Occasionally, to be sure, a traveling book- 
vender would knock upon the door and find 
ready entrance. The angels of the printed page 
would not infrequently leave a blessing behind 
them, and sometimes a book. But there is very 
little money in the mountains. Instead of pen- 
nies there are eggs; for the clink of silver are 
chickens and ducks ; instead of greenbacks, tan- 
bark. These are the chief media through which 
the buying and selling must be done. Hence 


58 


Paul Judson. 


books are scarce and newspapers rare. With 
all this, Mrs. Judson was not ignorant. She 
“knew what’s what;” and in the words of the 
old satirist : 

“That’s as high 

As metaphysic wit can fly.” 

Now the very soul of the little cabin home had 
for many years been this woman, whose chief 
pleasure it was to meet the daily needs of the 
inmates of Hawk’s Nest. Her sorrow had 
pressed deep furrows into her brow, till one 
would have guessed her older than she really 
was. The birth of her children, the death of 
eleven of them, whose short graves in the little 
graveyard back in the woods were like so many 
mounds of resurrection speaking to her mother- 
heart of eternal things ; the sad passing of her 
husband, the greed of cruel men, the struggle 
with debt, the cares of the little mountain patch, 
the weight of her ambition for her two boys— 
all these were surely reasons enough why the 
angel of beauty might forgive Matilda Judson 
for not looking like a fabled fairy in bloom of 
youth. Within the little home at Hawk’s Nest 
might be discovered the human impulse behind 
Paul Judson ’s life. It was the power-house and 
she was the power. A careful observer of 
human nature has said : “Great men may have 
had insignificant fathers, but every one of them 
had a mother possessed of the elements of 
greatness.” 


The Seat of Power. 


59 


No one ever came now to Mrs. Judson’s hum- 
ble door, but that, sooner or later, Paul’s name 
would, in some way, be brought into the con- 
versation. For when a woman’s heart is full, 
every road leads to the object of her love ; and 
when there is no path, there is always a cut 
across-fields. 



Mrs. Filson was a neighbor whose place was 
just around Bald Knob from Hawk’s Nest. She 
was one of the most frequent visitors to the 
mansion of the Judsons. She might be called 
a typical mountain woman of the poorer class 



60 


Paul Judson. 


in the secluded regions. In stature she was not 
large but wiry. Her face was sharp, her hair 
straight and her shoulders stooped. Women 
fade early in the mountains. The homespun 
dress would doubtless be described in terms of 
fashion as a walking skirt, for her skirts never 
reached below her ankles. Beneath this, her 
not very dainty feet were in evidence. With 
her piping voice, she might be heard quite a 
distance from the center of disturbance, when- 
ever she became thoroughly interested in her 
own words. One day Mrs. Filson came for a 
little family visit to her neighbor, Mrs. J udson. 
As they talked, the conversation of course 
drifted around to Paul. 

“I reckon that ther boy haz got his hed sot on 
preachin , , ,, said Mrs. Filson, with her peculiar 
drawl. 

“I don’t know about that,” replied Mrs. Jud- 
son, “but Paul wants an education the worst in 
the world.” 

‘ ‘ Eddication ? ’ ’ asked Mrs. Filson. “Well, ef 
he’s one o’ God’s aninted servants ther ’ll be no 
need o’ book lamin’,” she added with emphasis, 
not unmixed with scorn. 

“I ken ricollect when I wuz a gal o’ hearin’ 
ole Uncle Tol Richards. He wuz the mightiest 
preacher o’ the Word I ever seed. He never 
rubbed his head ’gin no college. But he was 
mighty in the Scripter. Oh, how I do ricollect 
the serment he preached one hot day in August 


61 


The Seat of Power . 

before ole Fork’s Run ’Socation. He riz from 
his seat, so serious and solemn like; and ev’ry 
eye was on him, ’cause he looked ez if the angel 
of the Lawd had whispered in his y’ear. 
‘Brithren,’ sez he, 4 I’m a-come by your appaint- 
ment, made last year when we met on Hell-for- 
sartin Creek; I’m here to shoot with the mighty 
gauspel gun, loaded with the buckshot of faith, 
primed with heavenly grace, and teched off with 
a fiery chunk of pra ’r. ’ He was shore the preach- 
enest preacher of all. He buried more people 
in baptism than any man what’s ben in these 
parts, before nor sense. I seen him baptize a 
woman wonst, that they all said was a witch. 
People came for miles to see that baptizing, for 
they said he couldn’t put her under. Witches 
don’t sink in water, they all said, but, chile, 
Uncle Tol never had no trouble baptizin ’ o ’ her. 

4 4 Open the Book enny wher you please, and 
the Holy Sperit would tech off his lips with the 
live cole from the altar— and sech preachin’ you 
never hyeard, Sister Judson, in all yer life be- 
fore, nor sense. The saints wep’ and sinners 
trimbled, as he po’ed out the viols o’ God’s 
wrath on a sinful people. Enpra’r? Bless yo’ 
soul, it peared like when Uncle Tol prayed he 
laid hold o’ the very robes o’ the Almighty, 
wres’lin’ till the angel give up to the grip o’ the 
mighty man o ’ God. ’ ’ 

This graphic description of the talents of the 
Reverend Toliver Richards was spoken with an 


62 


Paul Judson, 


earnestness and unction which gave evidence of 
the lasting impression this mountain servant of 
the Lord had made upon the mind of Mrs. 
Filson. 

“ Times may be changin’,” she added, 1 ‘but 
ef they is changin’ for the better, my eyes can’t 
see it.” 

“I don’t know what Paul will be,” responded 
Mrs. Judson, “but if the Lord should call him 
to be a preacher, as he did the great Paul of 
long ago, I don’t know as I would have a word 
to say.” 

“Yes, the Lord mus’ do the callin’,” said 
Mrs. Filson, “or his voice will be only a clangin’ 
cymball. ’ ’ 

“But I don’t see,” replied Mrs. Judson, 
“why God can’t call a man with an educated 
head just as well as one without it. Do you, 
Mrs. Filson? I don’t read anywhere in the 
blessed Book that he likes ignorance better than 
knowledge. Don’t we read that Moses was 
educated in all the things they taught down in 
Egypt? And wasn’t the Apostle Paul brought 
up at the feet of Gamaliel? And wasn’t 
Gamaliel one of the great teachers of those 
days? It’s my idea,” said Mrs. Judson, “that 
every young man ought to make the most he 
can of himself and then give that most to the 
Lord. He can’t go far wrong if he does that. 
What God wants is our best. That’s my doc- 
trine. 9 9 


The Seat of Power. 


63 


Mrs. Filson was not prepared to answer this 
argument and so the subject turned to the pigs 
and the turkeys. 

‘ 4 They is mos’ ez much trouble to raise as 
young bins, ’ ’ said Mrs. Filson. 

“Lor’, yes,” responded Mrs. Judson, “but 
think of the anxiety”— 

“En the heartache,” interjected Mrs. Filson. 
“When they’s young they treads on yer toes, 
and when they gits old they treads on yer heart, 
ez the ole sayin’ goes.” 

“It depends a good deal on the way they’re 
raised , 9 9 was Mrs. J udson ’s rej oinder. ‘ ‘ As for 
me, I long for those ole days when I was a child 
back East, when our minister, good ole Parson 
McWhorter used to come to our house on his 
rounds a- visiting his flock, and used to set every 
mother’s child of us in a row before him in 
stairsteps and ask us about the catechism and 
the covenants, to find out if we children were 
making progress. I miss those good old days. 
Albeit we did sometimes tremble when we saw 
Parson McWhorter riding up.” 

“The days ain’t what they wonst was, thet’s 
so,” added Mrs. Filson, with a bobbing of her 
head. “They tell me that some hez actually 
drug orgins and things in the place of pra’r. 
When I was a gal, I never hyeard of havin’ not 
even a chunin’-fork. We all praised the Lord 
with the heart and the understandin ’. The 
sarpent whispered in the ear of Eve, and He’s 


64 


Paul Judson. 


in them very chunin ’-forks. I don’t want none 
them contraptions when I makes melady to the 
Lord.” 

Mark came in just in time to hear the account 
of the religious regimen in the Scotch home of 
his grandfather, whom he had never known. In- 
deed Marcus had an expression upon his face 
which seemed to say, “I’m rather glad I never 
knew the stern old gentleman, nor the parson.” 
Marcus was a restless youth, not fond of the 
highlands as was his father, nor of the heaven- 
lies as was his mother, nor yet of knowledge as 
was Paul. But he would often sit and gaze, as 
if he belonged to another world; gazing out, 
and out! His principles were good, but many 
an anxious thought his mother gave concerning 
him; for she could not divine what the Maker 
had in store for so restless and so dreamy a boy. 




VII. 

A NEW LIGHT AND AN ECLIPSE. 

‘ ‘ Hello, Judson; are yon going to hear ‘Old 
Thunderbolt’ to-day ?” 

The young man who knocked at Paul’s door 
on this, the first Sunday morning after his ar- 
rival was a rushing, fidgety youth by the name 
of Stephen Calder. In he dashed like a cyclone 
fresh from the regions of Manitoba, scarcely 
waiting for the ordinary “Come in.” Indeed 
he was already in. It so happened that Steve 
Calder was the first student President Holden 
saw just as Paul emerged from the long con- 
ference concerning his entering Marton College. 
To Stephen’s tender mercies Paul had been 
given over that he might learn the scholastic 
points of the compass. The two boys could 
scarcely have been more unlike in their disposi- 
tions, and yet young Calder at once looked upon 

65 


66 Paul Judson. 

Paul for the time being as his special ward and 
protege. 

The sun was shining with rare and genial 
beauty on this autumn Lord’s day. Sundays 
seem nowhere more beautiful than in the moun- 
tains amid which Wilton was calmly nestled. 
The mists which during the night had gathered 
and circled the mountain tops, like incense from 
an evening sacrifice, have been now dispelled 
and the bright rays of the sunlight are tipping 
all about with gold. The gently flowing 
river and the quietude of the village speak 
of rest and worship. 

Much liberty was accorded the students of 
Marton College in all matters which had to do 
with the religious life ; though the influence was 
distinctly and positively Christian. The stu- 
dents were expected, but not compelled, to attend 
religious services on the Lord’s day. It was 
the working theory at Marton that while re- 
ligion held an indispensable place in the making 
of character, only such religious acts are of real 
value which come as the free expression of one’s 
own choice. 

No one had yet enquired of Paul Judson con- 
cerning his religious leaning. In fact, every- 
thing was so new and strange about him that 
the youth himself had scarcely discovered that 
Sundays came at Wilton till Stephen Calder 
burst suddenly into his room and asked if he were 
4 ‘ going to preaching. ’ ’ For that is what church 


67 


A New Light and an Eclipse, 

service chiefly is in the mountains. The people 
come neither to have their imaginations soothed 
nor stunned by magnificent music, but to hear 
a red-hot message from heaven. There may be 
a dearth of preachers in tjie schools of the 
prophets ; the supply may he a little short for 
the exacting demands of silk-lined churches in 
your cities; moss may be growing upon the 
roof of some country meeting-houses, because 
the crop of heavenly messengers has been cut 
short by some lengthened spiritual drought— 
but in the mountains preachers abound like 
blackberries in summer. Going to church means 
indeed going to preaching; for in many locali- 
ties every preacher who may be present upon 
the occasion is expected to exercise his gifts, 
and that too, more or less at length, each taking 
his turn till all have had i 1 the liberty of prophe- 
sying.” It will be observed that this is not that 
method of ecclesiastical polygamy by which one 
preacher serves many churches. It is rather 
ecclesiastical polyandry, in which one ecclesias- 
tical bride has come into possession of several 
ministerial husbands. Not far from Hawk’s 
Nest, one church had six elected pastors, who 
alternated through the year at the monthly 
“ Sunday and Saturday before” meetings. 

Wilton, however, had broken away from the 
prevailing custom. Each church there had a 
pastor, “for all of his time.” One of these 
under-shepherds was the pious and striking per- 


68 


Paul Judson. 


sonality to whom Steve Calder referred on 
coming to his friend’s room, when he reminded 
Paul that the Lord’s day was at hand. The boys 
called the preacher ‘ 4 Old Thunderbolt ’ ’ because, 
like James and John, friends and apostles of 
the Lord, he at times was a veritable “son 
of thunder.” He was small of stature, but 
possessed heavy, rugged features, overshadow- 
ing eyebrows and a jaw that spoke of determi- 
nation, if not pugnacity. Paul, after making 
his best attempt at a Sunday toilet, put himself 
under the guidance of Steve Calder, and was 
soon off to the meeting house. 

No one had thought to ask Paul about his 
church preferences, nor had Paul enquired the 
name, nor denomination of the church to which 
he was being led. The truth is, Paul had never 
made an open confession of faith in Jesus 
Christ. It should be said, however, he had been 
religious from early childhood. Night and 
morning he had been taught to pray, and this 
custom had become a fixed habit of his life. 
For let it be remembered that on the mother- 
side of his genealogical tree, he was of sturdy 
old Scotch breeding; and of course there ran 
in his veins a compelling blood-current of re- 
ligious blue , which has always been char- 
acterized by the grace of persistence. The 
paternal branch, too, drew its life from the 
“Standing Order” of New England, which was 
in its origin Puritan to the core. If there be 


69 


A New Light and an Eclipse. 

any significance at all in heredity, therefore, 
Paul Judson had been endowed of heaven with 
ample material for a staunch religious life. 

The spiritual privileges of their mountain 
home, however, were not altogether favorable 
for the Judsons. Here and there, especially 
along the water-courses there were little groups 
of Christians meeting for the most part in 
school houses, where a vigorous, though not 
always highly edifying gospel was preached. 
Church buildings in that region where Paul's 
childhood was spent are as rare as summer 
snows, and the people are more apostolic in 
their use of terms than are the people of the 
broad plains and rich pastures ; for they rarely 
speak of a building as a church; the church is 
the body of believers, united for worship and 
the service of God. School houses are quite 
sufficient as places of worship. This, too, they 
regarded as eminently apostolic, since Paul 
held meetings at Ephesus in the school of 
Tyrannus. Where is there mention in Scripture, 
say they, of any church building? 

Hawk's Nest lay at considerable distance 
from any of these mountain meeting-places. It 
was not easy, therefore, for any member of the 
family to attend divine worship. Conditions in 
the community were not favorable for calling 
out the best activities in things spiritual. It 
was rare, but not unheard of, for members of 
the same religious family to appear at church 


70 


Paul Judson . 


on Sunday morning bristling with suspicion— 
and guns. It may be something had happened 
during the week that had blown the smoulder- 
ing embers of an old grudge into dangerous 
flame, which at any time might touch the com- 
bustible fuse. Then of course there would be 
trouble. Presence at the place where prayer 
was wont to be made furnished, to be sure, a 
sort of modus vivendi, a white flag of peace; 
which, however, might disappear in smoke at a 
too suspicious movement on the part of the 
enemy. And so should a worshiper enter, taking 
his gun with him and clutching it as he listens 
to the preached word, it was not to be supposed 
that there would certainly be trouble. The man 
with the weapon meant to avoid excitement if 
he could ; but face it, preparedly, if he must. He 
sometimes counted his gun an assurance of good 
order, as a means of grace, so to speak. He was 
doubtless a good man at heart. He only needed 
to connect the teachings of the gospel of love 
with the meaning and sanctity of human life. 

Remote from a place of worship, the family 
of Judson, within the simple precincts of home 
life, had made an atmosphere peculiarly their 
own. It was like that fragrant influence de- 
scribed by Robert Burns, when he tells of the 
purity and sweetness that are born of piety in 
the midst of poverty, wherein “the cottage 
leaves the palace far behind and the simple 
life, where God is, becomes the matrix which 


71 


A New Light and an Eclipse. 

shapes the lives of the coming sons and daugh- 
ters of a sturdy race. 

“From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur 
springs,” and makes the hut of an humble 
mountaineer the power-house of untold achieve- 
ment, the prophecy of future blessing. 

Paul and Steve entered the church reverently 
and took their seats well toward the front. One 
might have judged the former to be a stranger 
to his environment, for he was evidently taking 
in every detail of his surroundings. And yet, 
with so many people around him, Paul felt 
lonely. He heard the preacher that morning 
with much eagerness. His first Sabbath away 
from home had made his heart rather receptive 
than otherwise. Somehow there seemed an in- 
ner, aching void. He longed for something, he 
scarcely knew what. When the minister an- 
nounced his text, the familiar words 6 i Come unto 
me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I 
will give you rest,” Paul felt more responsive 
still ; for, for one of his age his life had known 
much struggle that left its fatigue upon his 
young soul, of which he would gladly be made 
free. The preacher with all his outward rug- 
gedness was a man of deep feeling, and withal 
a man of no little culture, both of head and 
heart. The influence of Marton College had 
given to the community a church and a ministry 
above that which the section as a whole enjoyed. 
At once Paul’s attention was gripped firmly by 


72 


Paul Judson. 


the preacher, as he began to unfold the mean- 
ing of his text, and to impress its personal 
lessons. The good man told his hearers that 
the three words will give rest were on Jesus’ 
lips but one word, so that we might read the 
Lord’s invitation ‘ ‘ Come unto me all ye that 
labor and are heavy laden and I will rest you.” 
He explained the difference between giving rest 
to one whose heart is burdened and resting him. 
One may make a gift to another and stand afar 
off, but with little personal sympathy and help- 
fulness ; as a coin may be thrown, while passing, 
to a miserable beggar by the roadside ; but Jesus 
bids men come near to himself, and he taking 
the burdened soul rests it upon his own tender 
bosom. 

In the midst of the melting appeal of this 
earnest man of God, Paul was seen, quite un- 
conscious to himself, to bend his head forward 
till it rested upon the back of the bench in front 
of him. 

Then the preacher asked that men confess 
their sins and accept the tender love of a 
gracious Savior. And when he said, “If there 
is a burdened one to-day who wishes to know 
fully the meaning of a Savior’s sympathy and 
grace, let him rise to his feet and confess his 
Lord,” at once Paul Judson was noticed to rise 
and stand bolt upright in the pew where he was 
sitting. He seemed so dazed by his own bold- 
ness, he scarcely saw that all eyes were fixed 


A New Light <md an Eclipse. 


73 


upon him. Nor did he care. He desired the 
heavenly sympathy. He had long loved the 
Savior, but he had never before expressed it 
in a great congregation. But when he heard 
the words coming so close to his heart that day, 
“He that confesseth me before men, him will I 
confess / 9 he could not in sincerity to himself, 
remain unmoved. There Paul stood with bowed 
head, though unabashed, till the minister told 
him to be seated. He then sank back upon the 
bench, his face flushed, and his eyes moist ; but 
not one whit ashamed of the transaction in 
which he had played so prominent a part the 
moment before. 

Very few words were spoken by the two boys 
as they returned from the church that day. 
Steve, though brought up in a home where re- 
ligion was respected, was not himself a Christian. 

“I liked your spunk, old fellow/’ ventured 
Steve ; alluding to the scene in the church. But 
to this Paul gave no audible response. At the 
long table in the dining hall, where Paul sat, 
all the students soon knew what had happened 
that morning, but not one of them showed any 
other than a most gentlemanly consideration 
for the new student. He had been among them 
a little less than one brief week and yet some- 
how they felt instinctively that there was a man 
somewhere hid under his plain jacket. There 
was a strange magnetism about this modest 
youth which seemed to compel even upon short 


74 


Paul Judson. 


acquaintance, the most cordial admiration. In- 
deed, Paul’s stand that Lord’s day morning was 
the beginning of a quiet religious awakening 
among the students which ceased only with the 
close of the session. When the next Sabbath 
morning dawned, Paul, bright and early, was 
ready for the services at the church, where a 
week before he had done the unexpected. It had 
been a week of deep delight with the young man. 
Life, somehow, was filled with a sweetness and 
light he never knew before. Some of the clouds 
that had overhung his sky seemed lifted ; some 
of the inner forebodings which made for dis- 
couragement had been slain. He felt as never 
before that somewhere there was a place for 
him in God’s world, and that with the divine 
help he would carve his way to it. 

Paul went alone that morning, partly of his 
own choice; but no little because there was an 
instinctive feeling on the part of the boys that 
perhaps it would be better so. He took his seat 
not far from the place he had stood the week 
before. 

Soon Richard Dodson appeared before his 
congregation. “Let us sing hymn six hundred 
and fifty-nine,” said he, in that peculiarly im- 
pelling tone which “Old Thunderbolt” had 
always at his command. Soon old Ortonville 
began to ring upon the air, as the people literally 
lifted the song to the very heavens. 

“Majestic sweetness sits enthroned”— how 


A New Light and an Eclipse. 75 

soulfully they sang it that day. What supernal 
honor they would bring to the Lord of life : 

“Fairer is he than all the fair 
That fill the heavenly train.” 

If songs in earthly tabernacles ever awaken 
strains of music in the hearts of sainted hosts, 
then Samuel Stennett, who penned that hymn, 
might have felt a heavenly echo, as earths 
welkin rang with the voices of those who sat 
in the meeting-house that Sabbath morning. 

But Paul seemed to discern a note in the 
preacher’s voice, which on the Sunday before 
was absent. The ray of benign tenderness which 
was discoverable when a week ago he stood be- 
fore the desk was not there now. 

“My text,” said he, as he opened the great 
Bible before him, “is to he found in the first 
letter to Timothy, the third chapter and the 
sixteenth verse: ‘ Without controversy great is 
the mystery of godliness.’ ” 

Strangely enough, the preacher, in violence 
to the true meaning of his text, advocated re- 
ligious controversy, as necessary to clear up the 
mysteries of godliness. He placed the eccle- 
siastical chip upon his shoulder and defied all 
comers to dislodge him from his impregnable 
fortress. He used sarcasm and invective, and 
the full force of his fine lungs ministered to the 
power of the discourse. He carried the crowd 
with him, and Paul discovered for the first time 
why the boys called him “Old Thunderbolt.” 


76 


Paul Judson. 


The same nature which made it possible for him 
to melt with the pathos of the Sunday before, 
enabled him to rage like a lion against those 
whom he regarded as enemies and aliens to the 
true faith, once for all delivered. 

Paul sat with his eyes downcast. The ser- 
mon came like an ice bath upon his glowing soul. 
Sad and bewildered he wended his way home- 
ward; threw himself across his bed and burst 
into tears. The experience of the morning had 
come as a shock to his new religious life. 

4 ‘Is this the spirit of Jesus ?” he asked him- 
self, as he lay with his face buried in his hands. 
It was as though an idol had been shattered. 
Richard Dodson had made for himself a place in 
the holies of a plastic soul. But now what 
should the sensitive nature think! Had the 
preacher come under the condemnation of him 
who gave the awful warning against causing one 
of these little ones who believe on him to 
stumble ? 

Strange, how one, from whose piety and learn- 
ing might be expected better things, could some- 
times crucify the spirit of Jesus in defense of the 
great Master’s teachings; forgetting, like those 
“sons of thunder” who would have “burned up 
the wicked city”— the spirit they were of; for- 
getting to speak the truth in love, and to seek to 
apprehend with all saints, what is the height 
and depth and to know the love of Christ which 
passeth knowledge. 


A New Light and an Eclipse, 77 

Paul, meditating upon these things in his 
own way and through his own inexperienced 
heart, slid from the bed and was upon his knees. 
Was he to press on to a surrender more com- 
plete; to fields of richer spiritual experience? 
Should he seek the fellowship of some Christian 
fold? If so, where should he find it? If not, 
could he stand just where he was and fight his 
religious battles alone? Once upon his knees, 
he earnestly plead with the All-loving to give 
light to his bewildered heart. 






PATH FINDING. 

“Good old Hezekiah Tipton was 
right. I have found good friends in 
7 Wilton.” 

j ,/ As Paul sat in his room and 
/ thought on all that had happened 
• ■ ' in the few brief weeks at Wilton, it 

seemed to him a dream. His arrival ; 

. \ the finding his humble place in the 
^ classes ; the transformation the stu- 
dents had wrought in his room ; the 
incident in the church and the sud- 
den eclipse which had followed, all 
these things had so crowded upon 
him that Paul seemed to have lived 
longer in one month at Wilton than in all his 
previous life at Hawk’s Nest. 

“I thought there would be some to laugh at 
78 



Path Finding . 


79 


me; and I know they think I am dull in hooks 
and ignorant too for one of my age, awkward 
and behind the times; and I kind o’ think if I 
could see myself I would laugh too ! ’ ’ 

This modest reflection made Paul smile, with 
all his native seriousness, for he thought he 
caught a glimpse of himself as others saw him. 
But the fact is, Paul began to make himself 
respected among his fellows from the very first. 

It was drawing towards evening and the 
regular chores must he done before nightfall. 
Through the influence of President Holden, 
Paul had secured work at the home of a citizen 
of the village. It was his duty to feed and milk 
the cows, night and morning, and to cut the fire- 
wood for Mr. Thomas Whittaker, one of the 
wealthiest residents of Wilton. 

As he walked along, still musing, he said to 
himself: “So far, my little purse has been 
like the widow’s meal and oil which fed the 
woman and her son in the olden times.” 

Just as Paul was driving the cows into the 
gate to the milking place, he noticed a figure 
coming toward him, along the pike. Turning, 
whom should he see hut “Old Thunderbolt” ap- 
proaching. Mr. Dodson, in his private hearing 
was as sympathetic as an angel and as mild as 
a summer breeze, notwithstanding his tendency 
toward religious intolerance and his cyclonic 
delivery when aroused to the height of his 
feeling. 


80 


Paul Judson. 


“Good evening, my yonng man,” said the 
minister, “if you were a buxom young lassie, I 
should be tempted to inquire, ‘ Where are you 
going, my pretty maid;’ ” and without waiting 
for Paul to reply, he finished the familiar lines 
— “ *1 am going a-milking, sir, she said. ’ 99 
Paul seemed a little nonplussed at first by this 
sally of humor from the preacher, and made no 
reply except to his first greeting. To this he 
responded with a respectful bow. 

“By the way, you look like the young man 
who arose several weeks ago in one of our ser- 
vices. I have been looking for you from that 
day to this ; but somehow or other you seem to 
elude me. I almost wondered if my memory 
were only a dream ; and you, a myth. ’ 9 

Paul modestly admitted that he was indeed 
the youth for whom the preacher had been 
looking. 

“I remember that morning very well,” said 
the young man. “I have thought about that 
more than almost anything else, ever since.” 

“But why haven ’t you been back again?” 
queried Mr. Dodson. 

4 ‘ 1 was there the next Sunday , 9 9 answered Paul. 

In the meantime the two cows which were 
then the immediate care of the youth, had 
wandered on, and were lowing at the inner gate. 
Paul’s side-long glance in that direction served 
as a reminder to the minister that the time was 
not opportune for an extended conversation, 


Path Finding. 


81 


even upon so important a theme as religion ; and 
so the preacher added: 

“May I come to see you in your room some 
time soon?” 

“Certainly, sir,” said Paul. “My room is 
No. 146, in West Hall, second floor.” 

“Goodbye,” said the minister as he walked 
away, “I shall see you again.” 

Paul was soon at his task and the milk of the 
Jerseys was streaming rich and warm into the 
foaming pail. 

“He seemed to-day more as he did the first 
Sunday than the second,” thought Paul as he 
grasped the udders of his kine like an expert. 
‘ i Maybe I did not judge him right and ought to 
have gone back to his church again . 9 ’ 

The truth is, since the second Sunday on 
which Paul had attended the preaching services 
at Mr. Dodson’s, the young man had drifted. 
Not that he had lost his spiritual moorings ; for 
he was as determined as ever to be a Christian 
in the fullest meaning of that term; but he 
needed guidance. At a time when his soul was 
most sensitive to divine impressions, he had re- 
ceived a shock. The harsh and controversial 
spirit which the messenger of Christ had shown 
had surprised and chilled him. Mr. Dodson had 
manifestly made a mistake. Instead of being an 
embassador, pleading with men in Christ’s 
stead, to be reconciled to God, he had that day 
posed as a sort of Lord High Advocate and 


82 


Paul Judson . 


Royal Executioner combined; prosecuting, as 
the Lord’s foes, all who disagreed with him 
and bitterly comdemning to judgment traitors 
to the faith. 

Drifting from church to church in quest of 
spiritual light and divine leading Paul had been 
quite unhappy. 

“ Don’t forget to look for a ‘ church of the 
Covenant,’ ” Mrs. Judson had said to her son, 
before he left the little cottage in the hills. i ‘ It 
is the church of your forefathers ; and if there’s 
one to be found in Wilton I want you to attend 
it, my son. ’ ’ 

Paul had not found a Presbyterian church in 
Wilton; the well-trained ministry of that com- 
munion had not impressed the mountaineer of 
the early days ; so that others who laid less em- 
phasis upon the necessity of an educated min- 
istry had pressed in and taken possession of 
the spiritual vineyard. There was, however, a 
little Congregational flock in the village. A 
gentleman from Massachusetts who had come 
to Wilton for the purpose of investing in the 
rich lumber and coal lands of this region, had 
become wealthy, and with his family had es- 
tablished the little church, and become its chief 
supporter. This gentleman was Mr. Thomas 
Whittaker, whose cows daily had the faithful 
attention of Paul Judson. Mr. Whittaker had 
become interested in Paul. Through his invita- 
tion the latter had joined the Sunday school of 


Path Finding . 


83 


which he was superintendent. Paul seemed to 
recognize in the teaching that went out from 
that center a closer affinity to the doctrines 
which his mother had inculcated than any with 
which he had up to that time met. 

Ever since his birth his mother had wished 
him to be dedicated to the Lord by christening, 
hut never, since she crossed the Blue Ridge as 
a young woman with her stalwart husband, had 
she even seen one of the ministers of her own 
faith. They had not found their way to the 
caves and hollows of the Judsons ’ pent-up world. 

“When the Lord gives you opportunity to 
take upon you the baptismal vows and to come 
into the church of your fathers, I wish you to 
do so,” Mrs. Judson frequently used to say to 
her boys. 

But at Hawk’s Nest the opportunity never 
came. There were colporters freighted with 
their religious wares, passing to and fro ; there 
were Baptists all about; Baptists, “United” 
and disunited; “Regular” and irregular; 
“Hard Shells” and soft; “Primitives” and 
“New Lights;” “Landmarks;” “Calvinists;” 
“Two Seed,” and “Hell-redemption”— Bap- 
tists almost as thick as berries. Occasionally 
a Disciple preacher would come to the com- 
munity. Now and again, the voice of the Metho- 
dist rider would be heard among the hills. Even 
the Mormon elder had not been without his 
conquests, especialy among the more tractable 


84 


Paul Judson. 


sex _ w ;herever a young woman was found weak 
enough to try her fortune as one among many 
in the populous households of Utah or New 
Mexico. In fact, not far from Hawk’s Nest 
there lived in a lonely hut a woman decrepid 
and withered, the “Old Hag,” as some were so 
ungenerous as to call her, who in early days, as 
the story goes, had followed a Mormon emissary 
into the far West. The old woman had for many 
years ceased to tell her tale of woe. But there 
was lingering in the community the story of her 
beauty as a young woman ; her enthusiastic ac- 
ceptance of the doctrines of the “Latter Day 
Saints;” how she had gone to Salt Lake City, 
had become the thirteenth wife of a wealthy 
Mormon apostle, who had mistreated her ; how 
she could endure the fire of that hellish torment 
no longer ; how she had fled from her tyrannical 
lord, leaving behind her two children, whom she 
had unsuccessfully tried to bring with her ; how 
she made her way, as best she could, through 
weeks of suffering back to the region of her 
birth; had finally come into the possession of 
the little hut under the hillside, and there mut- 
tering incoherently, now something about “my 
babies,” and now calling the name of the Mor- 
mon missionary who had led her to renounce 
her faith and leave her home, and then again, 
crying, “Lies, lies, b-o-o-rgh!” and shaking 
through and through, she lived, a pitiable, 
driveling crone. 


85 


Path Finding. 

Yes, several types of religion had touched in 
one way or another the secluded regions of 
Hawk’s Nest. But Mrs. Judson had looked in 
vain for the 6 i true blue” with which her im- 
perishable Scotch blood could alone be satisfied. 

“I do not know what to do,” Paul had said to 
himself many a time since the Sunday of his 
unique experience under Mr. Dodson’s preach- 
ing. Obedience was the very key to his char- 
acter. From early childhood he had learned the 
meaning of that word, and it had become a 
second nature with him, so that with his native 
seriousness, it amounted almost to a passion. 
Let him know what the command is, and let him 
be convinced that the one making it has the 
right to do so— whether it be his parent or his 
own conscience, or God— and the rest was com- 
paratively easy. That victory had been won in 
the training. 

“Doe ye next thynge,” in old English letters, 
inscribed upon the walls of the college chapel 
had greatly impressed him lately. 

“But what is the next thing?” This agitated 
the young student greatly. He went about his 
every-day duties— his books, his milking, his 
daily reading and prayer. What should be the 
next step in his religious life? This was all 
darkness. 

The day came when Elder Dodson appeared 
at Paul ’s door. 

“I am glad you’ve come,” said Paul, politely, 


86 


Paul Judson. 


as the preacher was ushered in and invited to 
a seat. 

There was no lack of sincerity in this remark, 
for indeed he was an earnest seeker after light. 
He was sure he had yielded his heart fully to a 
Savior’s love. He had publicly confessed that 
Savior before men when he stood in a great con- 
gregation and unabashed had acknowledged his 
determination henceforth to follow his leading. 
But was this all? Was he not to he baptized? 
Should he not unite with some company of God’s 
people, and so stand unmistakably among those 
who are his? 

“I’m sorry you have not been to our services 
lately,” began Mr. Dodson, as he drew his chair 
closer to Paul’s. 

“I have joined the Sunday school of the little 
stone church around on the cross street.” 

“Ah, the Congregational?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Paul. “Mr. Whittaker has 
been very kind to me. You know I work for him 
evenings, and he is the superintendent around 
there.” 

“The Congregationalists are a very clever 
people,” replied Elder Dodson, “but their name 
is unscriptural. We are Christians and ours is 
the Christian church.” 

Paul had noticed on the first Sunday morning 
the name “The Christian Church” carved into 
the corner stone of the building in which Mr. 
Dodson preached. He had also read an invita- 


87 


Path Finding . 

tion upon a placard in the vestibule, which had 
impressed him pleasantly. It read as follows : 

* ‘ Come in, and worship with those who would 
be Christians only.” 

This, too, had made its favorable impression 
upon the mountain youth. In the sermon from 
the text, “Come unto me . . . and I will give 
you rest,” the preacher had pointedly affirmed 
that it is as men are obedient to the call of 
Jesus’ “Come unto me,” that they are drawn 
into fellowship with one another; and that the 
Master looked and prayed for the day when 
there should be one fold and one shepherd. 

“But is this oneness a matter of a name 
only?” thought Paul; “or is it a matter of 
Christ-like spirit?” For turning to his Bible 
one night Paul had read a passage which made 
a deep impression upon him because it seemed 
to throw light upon the situation. He read that 
James and John, the two “Sons of thunder,” 
disciples of Jesus, had been rejected in a 
Samaritan village. “Lord, wilt thou that 
we command fire to come down from heaven and 
consume them even as Elijah did?” He had 
turned and rebuked them with the words, “Ye 
know not what manner of spirit ye are of. ’ ’ 

It is not difficult to see therefore that Paul’s 
mind was not altogether open to Elder Dodson’s 
earnest entreaties that he should “Arise and be 
baptized. ’ ’ 

“Since that morning in your church,” said 


88 


Paul Judson. 


Paul, 1 1 1 have been very happy that I stood up. 
It was then I made up my mind that I could give 
up all for him and hereafter would turn my life 
over to his keeping. I have been glad ever since, 
for I feel God has forgiven me my sins, and that 
he will certainly show me the next step I must 
take. ’ ’ 

“You feel that God has forgiven you? You 
have no right to feel that,” replied the preacher. 
“Religion is not a matter of feeling, and God 
does not make any promises of salvation ex- 
cept to those who have been baptized in water , 9 9 
added Mr. Dodson. 

This was an entirely new idea to this scion of 
Scotch ancestry, nurtured among the hills. 

“Does it not somewhere read, 4 He that be- 
lieve th on the Son hath everlasting life?’ 99 
asked Paul, modestly. 

“That is the gospel of John,” said the min- 
ister. “It is the book of Acts alone, of all the 
Bible, which was written to tell men how they 
must he saved.” 

Paul was nonplussed. This idea was a new 
one. For the life of him, he could remember 
no passage in Acts which told why the book 
was written, hut it happened he had just finished 
reading the gospel of John— reading a little 
each morning as was his custom— and there still 
lingered in his memory these words of the 
evangelist : 4 4 But these are written that ye may* 
believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of 


Path Finding. 


89 


God; and that believing ye may 
have life in his name. ’ y 

But Paul did not feel competent 
to argue with one so versed as Mr. 

Dodson, and did not undertake it. 

But somehow, his own heart made 
its unmistakable protest against 
the view of the minister. His 
mother’s life also seemed a stand- 
ing argument against it. And yet, 
it was the Word of God which was 
to be the final arbiter, and not his 
own experiences nor his mother’s 
teachings; and so he waited pa- 
tiently for the light. 

Not many days after the inter- 
view, an evangelist came to Wilton 
to hold a series of meeting in Mr. 

Dodson’s church. Paul attended one night but 
made no response to the urgent appeal made by 
the visiting minister. It was only a few days 
afterwards that Mr. Dodson and Evangelist 
Martin together called to have a little talk with 
Paul Judson concerning his duty to be baptized 
and to unite with the church. 



90 


Paul Judson, 


< ‘ Are yon not now ready to complete the work 
of yonr salvation by being baptized V 9 began 
Mr. Dodson, addressing Paul. 

“I think God has already completed it,” 
answered the young man promptly. 

“But you do not refuse to obey this plain 
command, 4 Believe and be baptized / do you?” 

“No,” said Paul, “I wish to obey in every- 
thing.” 

“What is your trouble, then?” asked the 
pastor. 

“I am reading my Bible to find out what I 
ought to do,” was the young man’s answer. 
“My mother wished to have me baptized when 
I was only a baby. She taught me that baptism 
is a sign and a seal of the covenant of grace and 
is for the children of believers. She thinks, too, 
that the Scriptures do not command us to go 
into rivers and pools to be baptized. ’ 9 

“Never mind just now about the rivers and 
pools,” replied the pastor, “but you wish to 
have your sins washed away, do you not?” 

“Will water wash them away?” 

“No; water will not wash them away with- 
out faith and repentance,” said the minister, 
“but neither will faith and repentance take 
them away without baptism . 9 9 

The evangelist had up to this time sat silently 
listening to his friend expound the way of salva- 
tion to the young inquirer. Mr. Martin was a 
preacher of considerable reputation and success 


Path Finding . 


91 


among his people, an editor as well, and a man 
of piety and learning. He had not agreed with 
all that his friend had said to the young man on 
the question of how to be saved. He believed 
thoroughly in the importance and spiritual 
significance of baptism; but like many others 
of his own people he was not in accord with 
some of them, as to the place the ordinance of 
baptism holds in the gospel plan. 

“My young friend,’ ’ said Mr. Martin, turn- 
ing sympathetically toward Paul, 4 4 if you have 
given your heart to Jesus, you will wish to obey 
him— will you not?” 

“I do wish to obey him,” replied the young 
man earnestly, 4 4 and I am trying. I know I 
love him and I believe he has for Christ’s sake 
forgiven my sins; for I read the other day in 
my Bible, 4 If we confess our sins, he is faithful 
and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse 
us from all unrighteousness.’ Have I not a 
right to believe he has forgiven me my sins, if 
I have done my part in confessing and forsaking 
them?” 

4 4 But you must confess them in the way that 
is commanded,” injected Mr. Dodson. 

4 4 Listen to this passage,” said Mr. Martin. 

4 4 4 The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth 
and in thy heart ; ’ that is, the word of faith which 
we preach; 4 that if thou shalt confess with thy 
mouth the Lord Jesus and shalt believe in thine 
heart that God hath raised him from the dead, 


92 


Paul Judion. 


thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man 
believeth unto righteousness and with the tongue 
confession is made unto salvation. ’ This pas- 
sage does not say baptism is necessary to a true 
confession, nor necessary to salvation.’ ’ 

“But it is necessary to obedience /’ said the 
pastor. 

“Yes, to complete obedience,” added Mr. 
Martin. 

Mr. Dodson arose to go. His friend arose 
also ; and turning to Paul took him by the hand 
and said, ‘ ‘ If you are truly trusting your Savior, 
you will desire to follow him as closely as pos- 
sible. I see you love to read your Bible. Do 
not fail to search the Scriptures and find out 
early what the Lord would have you do. May 
the Spirit give you light through his Word.” 
A sympathetic pressure of the hand spoke of 
the warm heart that beat under the good man’s 
coat. 

“You are a Baptist, not a Christian, Martin,” 
were the words Paul heard from the lips of Mr. 
Dodson, as he and his friend closed the door be- 
hind them. 

“Necessary to obedience were the words 
which echoed in Paul’s ears as the gentlemen 
receded. “Necessary to obedience.” These 
were fortunate words to leave with the youth 
whose whole life had been keyed to that one 
thought. Whither will this influence of his 
mother’s love lead him! “Obey the Captain” 


93 


Path Finding . 

was the serious game his childhood life had 
learned to play. Would he now play it well at 
this crucial point in his career! In following 
that precept of his mother, “Obey,” will he be 
led away from the faith of his fathers into fel- 
lowship alien to that of his ancestry for genera- 
tions? Faithful to the parental example and 
teaching, shall he follow in the foot-steps of the 
angel that guided and guarded his childhood 
years? But Obey he must, so far as the light 
from above illumines the way. 



IX. 


WILTON STIRRED. 

“It has been fearfully dry. I don’t believe it 
will rain or snow any more till after Christmas. 
The pasture is as dry as powder ; and I have to 
feed those cows just as if it was dead o ’ winter. 
Mr. Whittaker will wonder what’s become of 
that last load of hay.” 

Closing his book, Paul started out for his 
evening work. He had scarcely completed his 
chores and was closing the barn gate behind 
him when he heard piercing cries that rang out 
shrill on the evening air. 

“Help! Help!” 

It was the voice of a woman, as if in deep 
distress. It was now dusk. To discern exactly 
whence the cries came was at first impossible. 
Running swiftly to the fence and leaping over 
it at a hound, Paul discovered two figures, about 
fifty yards down the road, as if in desperate 
struggle. 

‘ ‘ Murder ! Murder ! Help ! ’ ’ was the cry heard 
again, but this time muffled, as if the woman 
94 


Wilton Stirred. 95 

had lost breath, or was being choked by her 
assailant. 

Paul rushed as fast as his feet could carry 
him toward the spot whence the cries came. As 
he approached and was within a short distance 
of the scene, a huge muscular negro, letting go 
his grasp upon his victim's throat fled hurriedly 
down the road. 

PauPs manly impulse to help the weaker in 
so unequal a contest, at once gave way to wrath- 
ful indignation. He quickened his pace and 
started swiftly after the brutish assailant. But 
looking backward over his shoulder he dis- 
covered that the young woman had fallen ex- 
hausted and helpless to the ground. He turned 
and went quickly to her relief. At once he 
recognized her as one of the young ladies of 
Marton College— a beautiful mountain girl, 
whom Paul had many a time noticed as she went 
briskly about her duties. 

Stooping over her prostrate form he could 
scarcely discover whether she were dead or 
alive. The young girl seemed perfectly motion- 
less. He felt her cold forehead, and then chafed 
her limp hand between his own. Great drops of 
perspiration began to stand out upon PauPs 
brow ; not knowing whether to run for help or 
stand by his trust. 

Presently he heard the on-coming of a crowd, 
running from the direction of the village. ‘ 4 This 
way, boysP' came from one of the company. 


96 


Paul Judson. 


Looking up, Paul saw a half dozen persons run- 
ning rapidly towards him. 

“You rascal,” cried out the foremost. “You 
have murdered that woman. Let her go, or we 
will blow the top of your head off.” 

Paul rose deliberately from his stooping 
posture. Just then the young woman began to 
stir. She had fainted and was now come to 
herself. 

4 4 Hold on , 9 ’ said Paul calmly. 4 4 You are mis- 
taken. A ruffian was choking this young lady. 
When I came he ran up the road, jumped over 
into the field yonder, and made for the woods / 9 

4 4 Hey! Paul Judson! Is this you V 9 

Paul recognized the young men as friends and 
students from the college who had been out for 
a stroll. They had heard the shrieks of the 
girl and had run to see what was the matter. 

4 4 The wretch ! ’ ’ said Paul. 4 4 A black man was 
choking the young lady.” 

44 A negro?” asked one of the young men. 

4 4 Yes,” replied Paul. 4 4 He made full tilt for 
the woods.” 

4 4 Let’s be after him!” said two or three 
voices at once. 

4 4 Paul, you look after the young lady and 
we’ll catch the rascal and see that he gets his 
deserts.” 4 4 Are there no bloodhounds in the 
village?” inquired one, as he rushed back to 
town. 

The young lady, who turned out to be Virginia 


Wilton Stirred . 


97 


Tunstall, was one of the most attractive among 
the women students of the college. She was 
somewhat older than most of the girls of Mar- 
ton, and had been given a little more freedom 
to come and go. Her parents being poor, Vir- 
ginia had been allowed by President Holden to 
help defray her expenses through the college 
course by being companion to an invalid lady, 
Mrs. Holdcraft. This estimable woman resided 
on the outskirts of the village. At her home 
Miss Tunstall lived. Being allowed ample time 
to attend to her school duties, returning home 
in the afternoon, the young lady regarded the 
arrangement as admirable. 

On the day of the exciting incident Miss 
Tunstall had been detained longer than was 
usual because of special practice in music, pre- 
paratory to the mid-session recital that was 
soon to be given. 

Leaning upon Paul’s arm the young woman, 
still quivering like an aspen leaf, was brought 
to her home, which was not more than three 
hundred paces away. 

Knocking on the door, he handed over his 
burden to Mrs. Holdcraft. The lady stood in 
the door with horror-stricken face as she gazed 
upon Virginia’s livid countenance and dis- 
heveled condition. The light from the hallway 
fell clear upon the unfortunate girl. 

“I thought he would surely kill her,” said 
Paul. 


98 


Paul Judson. 


“Oh, I am so thankful to you, sir, 
for saving me from that creature,’ ’ 
said Miss Tunstall, with unsup- 
pressed emotion, as Paul raised his 
hat to take his leave. 

“I hope you will feel better in 
the morning,” remarked Paul. He ' 
turned away and walked hastily to - 1 
ward the college. 

The whole village, as well as the 
entire student body, was now stir- , 
red to its center. The story of the 
assault had spread like fire on a , 
prairie in August. The sheriff and 
his posse had already brought out' 
the bloodhounds to the scene of the / 
attack and were soon on the scent of 
the desperado. 

Paul had, after supper, set himself 
to his tasks and had retired about 
the usual hour. 

At some time during the night, » 
the whole dormitory was aroused 



by loud cries and commotion on the outside. In 
hear™- dSt ° f ^ Confusion ’ a distine t cry was 


Wilton Stirred. 


99 


“Lynch him!” “Swing him to a limb.” 

Paul at once knew what was the matter. He 
had not slept soundly, on account of the ex- 
citing experiences of the evening before. Get- 
ting up from his warm bed, he threw himself as 
rapidly as possible into his clothing, and was 
soon in the midst of the excited students. These 
were being harangued by some half-drunken fel- 
lows who were hoping that there might be a 
“lynching-bee” that night in Wilton, and were 
greatly disappointed that the negro ruffian had 
just been landed safely in jail by the prompt 
and courageous action of the sheriff and his 
deputies. The negro had been tracked about 
three miles through the mountain thickets by 
means of the keen scent of the hounds. Find- 
ing he was hotly pursued, he had climbed a tree 
and had partially hidden himself in a huge hol- 
low. The dogs were unerring in their wondrous 
gift of the nostril, and when the pursuers ar- 
rived on the scene these were barking furiously 
at the base of a huge oak. Threatened with be- 
ing riddled with bullets, the culprit finally came 
down from his high retreat and placed himself 
in the hands of the officers. 

It was about two o ’clock in the morning when 
the posse reached Wilton with their charge. 
The best and far larger part of the people had 
gone to their homes and were in their beds, but 
those of the baser sort formed an angry crowd, 
which was still hanging about. Whispered pur- 


L. OF c. 


100 


Paul Judson . 


poses of an attempt to break into the jail and 
lynch the culprit spread rapidly. The mayor 
of Wilton came out to advise the crowd to dis- 
perse and do no mischief. Mounting a dry- 
goods box that had been brought to the door, 
the mayor was about to address the mob. 

“ Bring him out,” came from many throats. 
“We’ll break the door down,” shouted one of 
the leaders. i 1 Hang him ! ’ ’ cried others. 

“Friends,” began the mayor in measured 
tones, as soon as he was able to be heard. 

“Friends, be hanged,” came from the mob, 
“give us the brute.” There were shouts of 
derision mingled with renewed threats. 

“The law must be upheld”— continued the 
officer. “Sheriff Brown has done quick and 
brave work and we must all stand manfully be- 
hind him for law and order. Let the law take 
its course.” 

“The law’s too good for such villains,” came 
from the mob. 

“Justice will be meted out according to the 
due processes of the law,” shouted the mayor 
above the confusion. “Don’t let’s be cowards, 
and bring a blot upon the fair name of our town. 
Give the poor wretch justice under the law. He 
is safe and helpless, and will get his deserts in 
due time.” 

“Cowards!” “Justice!” “Bah!” came from 
the mob. “We’ll hang you and Brown first.” 

“You shall never take this man from our cus- 


Wilton Stirred. 


101 


tody,” replied the mayor, hotly, being aroused 
by the threats upon his own life. “I have sworn 
in ten special deputies and these with the 
sheriff ’s posse will take their stand before this 
jail door and shoot down without mercy the first 
man who dares to use violence and”— Just 
then a pistol shot rang out on the night air; 
then another, and another, from different parts 
of the crowd. The mayor was seen suddenly to 
stoop and then to writhe as if in great pain. A 
bullet had struck the edge of the box on which 
he stood and glanced upwards inflicting a pain- 
ful wound in his foot. He was helped down 
from the box. The mob for the moment recoiled, 
and then slowly retired. Mayor Stott was taken 
to his home borne on the arms of two friends, 
and followed by a few men from among the 
crowd. 

While all this was going on at the jail, the 
college campus was alive with excitement. Some 
of the boys had already gone to the scene of 
disturbance. Paul, who had already had a 
prominent place in the earlier part of the 
tragedy, stood in the midst of a group of stu- 
dents and earnestly entreated them not to be- 
come excited, but to return to their rooms. 

He had reached the campus just as those 
reckless fellows half-crazed with drink were 
haranguing the company of students and trying 
to induce them to join the party which were to 
break open the jail and avenge the insult to 


Paul Judson. 


109 

the young lady; and as they put it, “ uphold the 
good name of this county.’ ’ 

“Good name, indeed;” said Paul. “These 
fellows will never help the good name of any- 
thing! Let’s go to our rooms and stay there. 
If there’s going to be trouble in Wilton to-night 
you don’t want to be in it. I am sure I don’t. 
Miss Tunstall is getting on all right. We can 
show our interest in her some other way. The 
law will take care of the guilty. We may de- 
pend upon that. ’ ’ 

Paul was a youth of deep conviction, and his 
earnestness carried with it great influence 
among the boys. Just as he was finishing the 
sentence, President Holden, who had been 
aroused by the noise of the excited passers-by 
and then by the successive pistol shots, ap- 
peared in the group whom Paul was holding 
back from participation with the mob. 

“What’s all this, young gentlemen? Go back 
to your rooms. This is no time for you to be 
out. Go to your rooms! The fair name of 
Marton College is in your keeping. This is a 
time when the truest bravery consists in self- 
control. A vile indignity, and a piece of out- 
rageous cruelty has been inflicted upon one of 
our number, and that too upon a woman; but 
we can show the world that Marton College can 
not be converted into a mob. We will uphold 
the strong arm of the law. ’ ’ 

“Judson,” said Mr. Holden, “I thank you for 


Wilton Stirred . 


103 


those brave words which I overheard as I was 
coming up. You are as manly in dealing with 
the passions of strong men as you are courage- 
ous in rescuing a defenseless woman.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Holden, for your kind 
words,’ ’ remarked Paul as he bowed politely— 
“I know the boys will be orderly.” 

The group of students were soon dispersed, 
each going back to his room. Some of them 
slept, while other did not. They easily dis- 
cerned that trouble was brewing in Wilton, and 
that something was likely to happen before the 
morning light. 




X. 

THE REIGN OF LAW. 

Wilton was a quiet little town, nestled peace- 
fully among its hills, usually undisturbed by 
those great upheavals that sometimes overtake 
the modern metropolis. But the spark had 
kindled a great fire. The arrest of Honeycomb 
Dick for a dastardly assault upon one of the 
young ladies of Marton College, had stirred the 
quiet village from the placidity of a mountain 
lake to the raging of a mighty storm at sea. Its 
pent-up decorum now burst forth with uncon- 
trollable fury. The crime was an unpardonable 
one. Virginia Tunstall had been for three ses- 
sions the pet of college life and was fast be- 
coming the darling of the village. Her gracious 
manner, genial smile, vivacious eye and willing 
hand marked her as one among a thousand. 

104 


The Reign of Law. 


105 


Withal, her keen intellect and unconquerable 
will rendered her mistress of every situation. 

The crime of the recent nightfall was made 
the more heinous in the eyes of the multitude 
because of the natural race differences between 
the assaulted and the assailant ; between the peo- 
ple of the community and the invading criminal. 

Scarcely had the mayor been wounded, when 
the crowd around the jail fell back, as if re- 
coiling from its flush of folly. Mayor Stott was 
a man of character and of high standing in the 
community. He had lived all his life in Wilton, 
and his father before him was to the manor 
born. But mobs are insane. They are deaf to 
entreaty, and reason here falls upon stony 
ground. Crime was added to crime. Growing 
hungry by what it feeds on, the mob spirit when 
once aroused, stalks hideously on, not heeding 
the calls of conscience nor dreading the iron heel 
of law. 

In a few moments, the yelling outlaws, now 
well under the influence of drink, were sur- 
rounding the mayor’s home and howling like 
jackals of the wilderness for the blood of the 
criminal and of all who dared stand in the way 
of their hideous intent. 

The mayor, pulling himself up from the couch 
upon which he had been placed, began to hobble 
to the window. 

‘ ‘ Come back ; 0 dear, don ’t go to the window ; 
they will kill you,” cried his wife, who had 


106 


Paul Judson. 


scarcely finished dressing his wound. 

‘ ‘ Let me speak a word to them. I will ! ’ 9 said 
he, as he broke away from Mrs. Stott’s grasp. 

Just as the mayor was in the act of raising 
the window a rifle-ball crashed through the win- 
dow-pane above his head, and lodged in the 
ceiling. The mayor, exhausted from the shock 
of the wound he had already received, and 
from the loss of blood, fell back exhausted to the 
floor, as though he had been pierced by the rifle- 
ball. 

“0 my dear, you have been hit,” said Mrs. 
Stott, with alarm. 

“No, I haven’t, wife, the ball whizzed above 
my head.” 

The? mark in the plastering confirmed the 
statement. 

In an instant it was as quiet in front of the 
Stott residence as though nothing had hap- 
pened. The mob had seen the mayor stagger 
and fall from before the window ; they thought 
him certainly killed. 

“Now for the jail,” cried Mike Prichard, the 
ring-leader of the gang. In a few minutes the 
howling law-breakers were again besieging the 
prison. 

By this time a squad of local militia, which 
had earlier been called out by the mayor, had 
arrived at the scene and had stationed them- 
selves in the mayor’s office. Here they com- 
manded the entrance to the jail. 


The Reign of Law. 


107 


Through the telephone, Mayor Stott had, from 
his residence, ordered out the little fire de- 
partment, knowing that the mob would be sure 
to return to the jail, and thinking that possibly 
a good drenching from the hose would cool the 
hot heads, and break up the mob in derision. In 
this he was mistaken ; for while the on-lookers— 
those who followed the crowd for curiosity’s 
sake took good-naturedly the wetting they re- 
ceived, it was far otherwise with the ring-lead- 
ers. They were determined. They had steeled 
their hearts with relentless anger and blunted 
their sensibilities with vile liquor. Soon the 
hose was cut by one of the mob and the attempt 
to prevent violence by a bloodless victory proved 
a fiasco. 

Sheriff Brown, with the officers in charge of 
the soldiers, seeing the crowd coming again to- 
ward the court house, went out and addressed 
those who were leading the mob. 

“Men, I affirm by Almighty God, and the 
majesty of the law, which I have sworn to up- 
hold, that the first man who attempts to enter 
this jail door will pay for it with his life. Now, 
disperse, and go to your homes. There’s been 
crime enough in Wilton for one night. If that 
negro is guilty, there’s law enough in this 
county to stretch his neck, but by the Eternal, 
you shan’t hang him.” 

“Give up the keys, or we’ll hang you,” came 
from the leader. 


108 


Paul Judson. 


1 ‘ Look a ’here, Mike Prichard, you’re a 
coward,” responded the sheriff. “Go home, 
or you’ll get in trouble.” 

“Give us the keys,” came from the crowd. 

“Those keys are mine. What do you take me 
for?— a coward? Didn’t I swear to keep those 
keys, and to do my duty? There are not 
cowards enough in Whitley county to make me 
give up these keys. I’ll give up my manhood 
first. To get that prisoner, you’ll have to walk 
over Ed Brown’s dead body. Now mind you.” 

To be sure the prisoner was a negro, and the 
negro a criminal, but he was in the custody of 
the law and Ed Brown was the sheriff. 

The mob had procured a huge stick of timber 
from one of the yards, as they passed along. 
There were one or two axes in the crowd. Some 
had brought their firearms; while others had 
forced entrance into the neighboring hardware 
store, and taken guns, pistols, and ammunition. 
All were armed. 

Apparently unmoved by the brave words of 
Brown, the leaders began to move with mani- 
fest intentions toward the building. 

“Bang! Bang!” came the dull sound, as the 
heavy log was pounded end-wise against the 
entrance to the jail. 

“Ready!” “Take aim!” “Fire!” came from 
the captain of the company. Instantly a bril- 
liant flash of light and a crash from the 
musketry sent a fusilade through the window 


The Lieign of Law. 109 

of the mayor’s office, right into the midst of the 
mob. 

“Ready!” “Take aim!” “Fire!” came the 
second command, and again bullets from the 
soldiers’ guns were poured in the direction of 
the crowd. 

The knocking against the door ceased; the 
crowd hastily retreated, and in less than five 
minutes the territory for a quarter of a mile 
around was in the undisputed possession of 
Brown and the soldiers and Captain Poole. 

Upon going out into the street and to the 
vacant lot adjoining the jail, the officers dis- 
covered that six persons had been killed by the 
deadly aim of the soldiers. Others had fallen 
writhing in pain; while others hobbled away 
wounded to their homes. “Innocent by-stand- 
ers” who had not thought that their presence 
but added fuel to the mad flames, were among 
the dead and wounded. Hearts were sad that 
morning in Wilton. Homes, where a few hours 
before all was peace, were now wrapped in 
gloom. But the majesty of the law had been 
vindicated ; and Wilton had been spared a 
blacker disgrace. 

Six lives, much suffering in body and mind; 
personal estrangements and bitter regrets were 
a great price to pay for the reign of law , hut 
this boon was worth every whit the purchase 
money. Wilton has since passed through sev- 
eral trying ordeals, hut each time with becoming 


110 


Paul Judsofi . 


order and decorum. The memory 
of the sad night when six citizens, 
men and boys, of the little town 
perished in an insane and ignoble 
cause, has lingered and been a 
fruitful testimony to the majesty 
of the law and the need of per- 
fect obedience. 

Among the slain that night was 
found the jovial, generous-heart- 
ed Tom Rogers, the boy who had 
taken so much interest in Paul, 
and led the unusual hazing of a 
few weeks before. A double 
: gloom hovered about the college 
that morning. Tom had thought- 
lessly, impulsively followed the 
crowd, with no purpose of aiding 
or giving comfort to the mob. 
The mistake had cost him his life. 

A small group of students were 
• standing over the pallid form of 
their friend as he lay pulseless 
upon the bed from which a few 
hours before he had bounded with 
a boyish enthusiasm for seeing 
what is to be seen. 

In walked old Mose Johnson. 
Mose was an aged negro, who for 
many years had been the janitor 
of Marton College, but because 


The Reign of Law. 


Ill 


of his age had been superseded by a younger 
man. For the good he had done in days 
of his stronger arm and quicker step, Mose 
was retained as a general utility man, doing 
some of the lighter work, and taking per- 
sonal oversight of the hoys ! . This he did with 
a fatherly interest, always magnifying his of- 
fice, and minifying the short-comings of the 
boys. He loved them and they loved him. 
Negroes were not numerous in Wilton. Occa- 
sionally a stray black man from the coal mines 
came that way, as had the criminal of the night 
before. But Mose Johnson belonged to “the 
old school.” Coming into the room where the 
body of Tom Rogers lay, Mose, with his good, 
gray head and erect form, stood for a moment 
speechless. The old man was much moved by 
the scene. 

“Gemmen,” said he at length, “dis here wuz 
a fine young gemmen. What er mighty pity it 
’tis fur him to be tuck dis way. Po ’ chile, de ball 
dun went right froo ’ his breast. What will his 
’stracted mammy say when she hear de news? 
Gawd have mussy on her. I reckon she’ll go 
crazy wid grief. Lawd have mussy!” These 
words were spoken by the old man with mani- 
fest reverence and deep sincerity. 

“Oh, dese niggers what prowls ’round de 
kentry, ’stid o’ stayin’ home en ’havin’ der 
selves. Dey’s bound for to git in trouble. Lawd 
have mussy on dese new issue niggers. Dey 


112 


Paul Judson. 


ain’t no ’count ’cep to git in trouble, nohow. I 
wish I could er had my way wid ’em when dey 
wus young. Po’ chile, nebber see his mammy 
nor pappy agin!” 

As he said this his eyes turned tenderly to- 
ward the cold form of Tom Rogers, who but a 
few hours before was as light-hearted and 
bright as the beams of a Spring morning. 

“Well,” added the old man, “don’t it say 
somewhar in de Scriptur ’ dat it is ’spedient dat 
one die dat all de people perish not f ’ ’ 

The old sage of the sable skin had struck a 
true key. With the keen vision of a prophet 
and the accurate touch of an artist he had told 
the very truth; even though the application 
might not run upon all fours. He seemed, in 
his own way, to discern better things coming 
out of the sad experience of disaster; lessons 
out of tears. In truth, humanity with bleeding 
feet must ever climb the steps that lead from 
bad to less bad ; from better to the best. 
Through the shadow of an evil night of lawless- 
ness and crime, there was yet to come forth the 
perfect reign of law. In this onward march to- 
ward the higher ideals of civilized life, Marton 
College was destined to— as indeed it had done 
in the past— contribute its unmistakable part. 


XI. 


MARTON ’s BEST GIRL. 

Virginia Tunstall was among Her friends 
again. The trying shock to her nerves follow- 
ing her desperate struggle with the dastardly 
villain, was soon conquered by her native vigor. 
When she appeared in the class-room she seem- 
ed more a darling than ever among her fellow 
students. The success with which she had com- 
batted her assailant, holding him at bay till 
Paul Judson’s help reached her, and falling 
prostrate only after the victory had been won 
—all this made her the heroine of the hour. 

Promptly the desperado had been given a 
trial according to the due processes of law ; had 
been sentenced, and had forfeited his life for 
his crime. The judge of Whitley was not a man 
to play at jurisprudence, nor to mock at justice. 
He took his position seriously. To him a judi- 
cial office was a public trust; and while he 
granted to every man who came before him the 
full benefit of his lawful rights, he never allowed 
delays and the juggling with legal technicalities 
to thwart the manifest purposes of the law nor 
1 *3 


114 


Paul Judson. 


the immutable principles of justice. It was a 
dictum of his that “If justice were more speedy, 
crime were more tardy.” 

4 ‘Gentlemen of the jury, are you ready with a 
verdict,” came from the bench. 

4 ‘Guilty!” 

“Dick Combes, stand up!” said the judge, 
after the jury had brought in its verdict, and 
prescribed as the penalty that defendant “hang 
by the neck, until he is dead, dead, dead ! ’ ’ 

The black man arose slowly and awkwardly 
from his place. The judge spoke deliberately 
and firmly. 

“This thing of attacking helpless women 
upon public highways must stop. This is to be 
brought about not by the mob, from which you 
have been protected, but by the strong arm of 
the law. Have you anything to say why the 
sentence of death should not be pronounced 
upon you!” 

“Nothin’, jedge!” answered the unfortunate 
victim of ignorance and vice— “ ’cep, jedge, I’d 
like to say dis much, dat ef I hadder listened to 
my ole mammy brot’ up in slave times and not 
a ’ strayed oil ; ef I hadder listened to what dey 
tole me when I wuz a chile at de church way 
down in Tennessee ; and ef I hadder not brought 
a bottle of whisky ’cross de line, I wouldn’t er 
ben here to-day. Thankey, jedge, I ain’t got no 
skuse, jedge. Thankey, jedge.’” 

With this the man sank down in his chair. 


Marion's Best Girl. 


115 


His reference to his old mammy of slave times 
and the church he had attended when a boy was 
pathetic indeed. His reference to a licensed 
saloon ‘ * across the line” made some of the 
audience feel a part of the crime. 

Hearts that had been embittered through re- 
sentment for the offense, became for a moment 
soft, and not a few eyes were moistened with 
tears. Before those present in the court room 
there stood a living example of how near to the 
beast a man may become. And yet even under 
all that was brutal, there was recoginzed the 
human, buried beneath a mountain of ignorance, 
passion and vice. The law must take its course, 
and society must be protected. But the negro’s 
farewell speech to the court was an indirect 
and unconscious testimony to the value of the 
precepts enjoined by some of the black mothers 
in the humble cabin. It witnessed to the word 
proclaimed from the unlettered negro pulpit in 
many a secluded spot, even though, in this case, 
both had apparently fallen far wide of their 
mark. The home, the church and the school, 
that trinity of nursing mothers for good citizen- 
ship, had achieved much for the enslaved race, 
but had not had time to save all the dark multi- 
tude of those whom war and reconstruction 
threw out from their former place of guardian- 
ship into the wide sea of freedom, to ‘ ‘ sink or 
swim, live or die, survive or perish.” Dick 
Combes sank, and perished in ignominy; as 


116 


Paul Judson. 


have many others of every race who could not 
interpret liberty in terms of self-mastery; but 
have read in it only license and rapine. 

On the very day upon which the offender paid 
the lawful penalty of his guilt, Virginia Tun- 
stall sat in the school room among her friends. 
She was the picture of modesty and grace. Her 
sweet temper, coupled with a strong personality 
made her the most admired young woman in 
Marton. How she reached this enviable place 
would make an interesting volume. For be it 
said in candor, it was not so from the first. This 
was her senior year at Wilton. Back in her 
mountain home, she had paved the way to col- 
lege by raising chickens and selling eggs, hoeing 
and even plowing in the fields in times of stress. 
Her first session had not been altogether a 
happy one. Beturning to the parental cabin, 
everything seemed so plain and unattractive 
about her, Virginia sat down and wept. Her 
parents noticed the transformation that had 
come over her in nine short months. Her 
younger brothers and her sisters wondered if 
the change they discovered was what is called 
education, about which they had for several 
years heard so much. There was general and 
undisguised disappointment in the little moun- 
tain home. The college-bred sister, of one 
year’s standing, seemed an egregious failure, 
and her college course a blunder. 

4 'Don’t call me Jinnie, ma, my name is Vir- 


Marion's Best Girl. 


117 


ginia— will you be so kind as to call me that or 
nothing. ’ 9 This was one of the first arrow shots 
that found its way to the simple mother-heart 
of Mrs. Tunstall. 

Virginia was also quite quick to discover her 
father’s bad grammar, for Mr. Tunstall was no 
grammarian of the purest type. Alas, his 
eighteen-year-old daughter had become so in one 
brief session. The old gentleman’s hat and his 
rusty old coat, which Mr. Tunstall had owned 
almost since Virginia was an infant, had now, 
strangely enough to him, become suddenly unfit 
for wear. The boys neglected their boots, and 
the little sisters’ hair was cut in a fashion “too 
backwoodsy for anything.” 

Her former companions in the day-school, 
and her associates at the old church on “Horse 
Lick creek,” noticed since her return her stiff 
bearing and ungracious manner. All Horse 
Lick church was a huge interrogation point, 
and this was the query: “What’s come over 
Jinnie Tunstall sense she’s ben to college? 
Does eddication make people forgit ther 
friends?” 

“WLat a name for a creek— Horse Lick!” 
Virginia was heard to say, with upturned nose, 
and a curl of her new-cultured lip. “The idea 
of naming a church Horse Lick— it’s perfectly 
ridiculous.” 

The faded chromos on the walls of the Tun- 
stall home were also a target for the critical 


118 


Paul Judson . 


shafts of the young lady who had seen a few 
pieces of art at Wilton. 

The Tunstalls were bewildered and grieved 
hy their first impression of higher education, as 
it was exemplified in their daughter. For hours 
during her vacation, Virginia would sit and 
read, and look listlessly out into space, as if 
dreaming. Then the duties which were ex- 
pected of her and which she once performed 
without a murmur, were now manifestly irk- 
some. The humble home at Turkey Foot had 
lost its charms for Virginia. 

It was under much inward protest that Mr. 
and Mrs. Tunstall gave their consent to Jinnie’s 
return to college. But she wished to go, and 
so, she went. 

There happened this, the second session, an 
event which was destined to hold a vital place 
in Virginia’s life. She was converted . The 
elder Tunstalls belonegd to that rock-ribbed 
class of Christian people sometimes known as 
Hardshells. Virginia had never attended a 
Sunday school till she entered Marton College. 
Here the atmosphere was surcharged with the 
most active Christian spirit. In truth, Marton 
was a Christian college. Its president and 
learned faculty were men and women of piety 
and of positive religious character. An evange- 
listic spirit was all-pervasive. In the regular 
chapel exercises and in special meetings for the 
students the interests of the soul were not 


Marion's Best Girl. 


119 


neglected. Here education consisted, first, in 
recognizing the sacredness of the body, and the 
duty to keep, cultivate and consecrate it to the 
highest ends; second, in developing the mind 
to its noblest powers and its best expression; 
and finally, to place a sound body and an en- 
riched mind under the complete mastery and 
direction of a cultivated, God-fearing soul. 

Mr. Holden, the president of Marton College, 
had inscribed over the very portals which ad- 
mitted the new comer to the classic precincts of 
Marton, “Body, Mind and Spirit Preserved 
Blameless ,’ 9 an adaptation of the words of a 
great apostle. Youths, in their middle teens , 
who often came with their revolvers in their 
pockets to begin a college course, had their 
weapons kindly but promptly confiscated. One 
by one the boys delivered their six-shooters over 
to the safe keeping of Mr. Holden. That was in 
the first years of the school, for when Paul Jud- 
son entered the college but few pistols came 
with the students. In “teaching the young idea 
how to shoot , 9 9 the president held that such im- 
plements were unnecessary. Already Marton 
College and its faculty were working a miracle 
in Whitley and the counties about it. 

It was here that each young life began to turn 
the leaf of a new text-book— which was not 
bound in pasteboards, nor cloth, but had some 
such title as this, “The Sanctity of Human 
Life . 9 9 In this unwritten volume, were chapters 


120 


Paul Judson. 


on “The Body a Temple,’ ’ “The Soul’s Living 
Room,” “Clean Hands and a Pure Heart,” 
“Bodily Sacrileges,” “The Living Sacrifice,” 
and many others equally wholesome and fruit- 
ful. The youth with rounded shoulders and un- 
couth manner at once began to feel the refining 
touch of a new influence. The girl with blank 
countenance or listless mien soon yielded up 
this to the quickening impulse of mental and 
moral stimulus. 

Nor was this strange to one who knew the 
history of Marton College. Like every great 
enterprise it was born in the thoughts of a hope- 
ful, aggressive soul. Its founder had given for 
it his life. 

“Where are you goin’ with that gret stick o’ 
timber? Did the tide carry away the bridge 
over the creek?” 

“Not exactly,” responded the sturdy man, 
who carried on his shoulder a log held in place 
with one hand, while the other hand carried an 
axe. “Not exactly that, my dear Tim, but I’m 
going to build a college for WTiitley county. 
There’s something worse than a tide that needs 
to be looked after in this neighborhood. It’s 
the flood of ignorance that’s been raging for lo, 
these many years. No offense to my neighbors, 
Tim, they’re God’s own people after all.” 

The man with the log was a man with a pur- 
pose. He was Jim Johnson. Jim was a moun- 
taineer himself. He had gotten a smattering of 


Marion's Best Girl. 


121 


an education in his head, and a great deal of 
education in his heart. Long had he labored, 
and prayed too, that a school might he born for 
the mountain children ; a school that should be 
“like a light set on a hill,” to use his off-re- 
peated phrase concerning the ideal he had in 
his mind ; which ideal was then only in his mind. 
But James Johnson never gave up. He was 
like the drummer boy in Napoleon’s army, he 
had never learned to beat a retreat, and he had 
started. 

“Everything must have a beginning,” said 
he ; and so he gathered a few of the choice boys 
and girls of the neighborhood into a little school, 
which, when the weather permitted, met in a 
deserted old cabin. This he had chinked with 
mud, as best he could, to keep out the over- 
supply of fresh air. 

After a while, however, the cabin became too 
confined for Jim’s ambitions, and the demand 
made upon its seating capacity by the influx of 
the raw material, which confiding parents were 
continually committing to Jim’s hands. They 
believed in him. But one night the old shack 
burned. 

There was little or no money in those days 
among these native mountaineers. The zealous 
projector of education found that appeals to the 
richer people of the lowlands were not equiva- 
lent to a fat bank account; so he determined 
himself to build a school for Whitley county ! 


122 


Paul Judson. 


He was just beginning to translate into fact 
his whole-souled purpose when Tim Morgan 
met him carrying a piece of undressed timber 
cut from the woods with his own hands. 

A famous New England teacher at one end of 
a log and a pupil at the other is said to have 
constituted a college. Obscure Jim Johnson 
was making a college with a log on his shoulder 
and the pupil— in magnificent prospect. 

Jim wore corns in his hands and holes in his 
trousers for he built by day and prayed by 
night. At first some mocked— as the unbe- 
lievers treated Noah, that first master ship- 
builder of the world. Then lookers-on began to 
cease laughing and to lend a hand. Finally, 
the college stood, a monument to the grace, 
the grit and the gumption, of Johnson, plain 
Jim Johnson. College? Oh, it was a college 
only in prophecy. An old field school? Well, 
call it that. The angels called it magnificent. 
It was the day of small realities but of large 
dreams, and noble sacrifices. And behind all, 
was a divine ideal and a Christlike trust. “For 
the Master’s sake” glowed in every purpose, 
and “For the Master’s use” was inscribed in 
invisible letters upon every beam and every 
brick that went into the enterprise. 

From these humble beginnings, by the aid 
of friends raised up from every quarter, 
the little school, built for Whitley county 
became a college in truth— shedding its light 


Marion’s Best Girl. 


123 



“like a city set on a hill.” 

Its founder was laid to rest 
in the valley before he saw his 
ideals realized. But all said 
that had an autopsy been held 
and an examination carefully 
made, the image of Wilton’s 
school would have been found 
the center of his heart. 
Every institution is said to 
be ‘ 4 the lengthened shadow of 
a man.” Marton College, now 
become larger in its influence 
and its power, is the lengthen- 
ed shadow of James Johnson 
and other rare spirits who 
were willing to give them- 
selves unselfishly to a holy 
cause. 

All the successors to these 
pioneer spirits had caught 
the same sweet fervor. Mar- 
ton had taken form, progres- 


124 


Paul Judson . 


sively meeting its new demands, through the 
natural unfolding of its original high purposes. 
It never forsook its heritage, nor forgot its en- 
vironment. It held firmly to the spirit of the 
one, and met bravely the demands of the other. 
In short it was a Christian school. This meant 
more than that it was founded by Christian men 
and women ; but that the spirit and ideals of the 
Nazarene were pervasive. The making of char- 
acter was an important part of the curriculum. 
Foot-ball was elective, but right living was es- 
sential . The very environs seemed to call out 
the best in the youth, while meanness soon felt 
itself out of place, and therefore lonesome. 

The breathing of such an atmosphere was 
like inhaling the fresh ozone of the surrounding 
mountains. Few could live in the midst of it 
without being transformed. This proved true 
of Virginia Tunstall. She had come to Marton 
College with fine native gifts but narrow con- 
ceptions of the meaning and dignity of life. 

It was in the second session that a change 
came over the spirit of her life. She found her 
Lord, and in finding him, found herself. 

On her return home when June came round 
again, it was discovered that new flowers had 
bloomed in the garden of Virginia’s soul. There 
was now no affectation of superiority over those 
about her, but with a simple earnestness she 
took hold where she was. With a delicacy of 
touch she began to transform the home sur- 


Marion's Best Girl. 


125 


roundings into something of the cultured beauty 
into which she had been led by her teachers, and 
into which school life was now continually in- 
troducing her. 

The familiar gourd-vine, with its diminutive 
yellow and green striped gourds, growing before 
the door— a frequent ornament of the mountain 
home was no longer the target of her satire. 
She no more contented herself with complaining 
of the pole-bean with the purple blossom as 
out of date , she simply planted the fragrant 
rose and the beautiful chrysanthemum. Instead 
of criticism of things about her she quietly 
directed her energies at making them better. 

She began to substitute better pictures— some 
of them from her own brush— for the dingy 
faded chromos on the walls. A little change 
here, and a touch there, were now transforming 
the living rooms of the cabin into apartments 
of simple beauty. The home had found a new 
soul. 

Is not nature around you full of wondrous 
transformations, bringing perpetual delight to 
your ravished vision? You stood yesterday 
upon the shore of the sea and looked upon a 
scene of awful grandeur. The billows, raging 
in angry foam before you, broke furiously upon 
the beach, as if shaking defiance at nature’s 
boundary. The sky clothed in leaden gray 
threw its pall over the waters of darkened blue ; 
and the winds, goading the infuriated waves into 


126 


Paul Judson. 





r 




ft 


greater anger, rushed 
by you as if resenting 
your intrusion. 

To-day you stand up- 
on the same beach and 
gaze out serenely upon 
the same expanse of 
waters. All is changed 
now. You are in the 
presence of a scene of 
entrancing loveliness. 

Instead of the billows 
which, from their sheer 
madness, broke to 
pieces in foam before 
your eyes, you see gen- 
tle ripples tipped with 
gold. The kindly zephyr 
is now kissing the 
dimpled wavelet, where 
yesterday it lashed the 
huge billow into fury; 
and passing by it fans 
your cheek as if apol- 
ogizing for its rude- 
ness of yesterday. The 
sheen of the sky broken 
here and there by the fleecy clouds that float 
noiselessly, has turned the dark waters into 
radiant loveliness. You look up to heaven and 
read through the veil of nature the message of 



$ 


Marion's Best Girl. 


127 


these transformations, and the heart has already 
answered, God! 

In the winter the earth lies sleeping. It is 
nature’s rest-time. The flowers have gone to 
bed, and all animated life has barred its win- 
dows against the chilly breath of the North. 
With its snow-white mantle, the world seems 
wrapped in its last long winding sheet. Not so ! 
A few weeks shall pass, and the warm touch of 
springtime’s kindly rays, the sweet breath of 
on-coming summer awakens the earth as by a 
morning kiss, and presently all is life and 
beauty again. The myriad life-throbs of earth’s 
annual resurrection speak of a most miraculous 
transformation. In this, too, the reverent eye 
discerns the Maker. 

What shall he say who sees a human soul pass 
from doubt to faith ; from torpid indifference to 
wakeful service; from the deformity of a self- 
centered existence to the full-grown beauty of 
Christian womanhood? There is but one 
answer. The Spirit of the living God has 
breathed upon the cold heart and made it live. 
Some call it divine influence; others see only 
the blossoming of a new affection, or the touch 
of a new environment. But the wise and rev- 
erent spirit perceives in such a revolution the 
power of God, as through his Holy Spirit he 
3peaks Person with person— through his Word 
and the myriad voices in which he has chosen 
to reveal himself to his erring children. The 


128 


Paul Judson . 


Spirit of God had used all that made the sweet 
Christian atmosphere which pervaded the life 
at Marton College, to turn the baser metal of 
Virginia TunstalPs character into gold. 

All the region around Turkey Foot noticed 
the gradual change that was taking place under 
the magic touch of Virginia’s transformed 
spirit. Father and mother, brothers, sisters— 
all had brighter faces and happier hearts. New 
ambitions seized upon them all. They appeared 
better when they worshiped at Horse Lick 
church. Her newly acquired taste in dressing 
showed itself in the re-arranged and well trim- 
med bonnet of her mother, and in the brushed 
and neater clothing of her father, and in the 
dress of the other members of the family. They 
became proud of Virginia and almost uncon- 
sciously responded to her influence. 

She had secured on the Saturday before, the 
washing of the wagon and the currying of the 
horses which carried them to the church. The 
whole family and even the wagon and horses 
reflected something of the new spirit which had 
been born in Virginia Tunstall. Gradually she 
won back to her the associates whom once she 
had offended by her indifference or her mani- 
fest, impatient dislike. It was good to see her 
darting busily and graciously about, saying a 
kind word to this one, and giving a warm greet- 
ing to that. She had a bright smile for the aged, 
and an encouraging sentiment for the care- 


Marion’s Best Girl. 


129 


worn. To every girl in the community she was 
at once a model and an inspiration in manner, 
dress and spirit. 

Men and women who never saw the inside of 
a college, and who would probably fail several 
times in distinguishing between “ A and izzard,” 
instinctively felt that now they had found out 
what education is. Virginia Tunstall had at 
last disclosed it to them through a cultured soul 
having at its quick command an alert mind and 
a ready hand. And this will explain why after 
nearly four sessions, Virginia Tunstall was 
recognized as Marion* s lest girl . 



xn. 


A GOOD TURN REPAID. 

“Old chap, you are becoming quite a ladie3* 
man. This is the second time lately Pve seen 
you with a countenance that beamed with the 
color of calico. Whither now, old fellow? Come, 
own up!” 

These words addressed to Paul Judson by hi3 
cyclonic friend, Steve Calder, were received 
with a merry twinkle of the eye which showed 
that Paul was not at all displeased by Steve ’s 
accurate guess. 

“Oh, Pm just going a little way up the road.” 

“Ah, I see,” said Steve, “just going out for 
a short constitutional , with your shoes like a 
looking glass and diked in your best Sunday- 
go-to-meeting togs. I believe I’ll go along with 
you.” 

Paul was indeed dressed up in his very best. 
Steve’s keen eye had discerned the truth. Paul 
was on his way to see Virginia Tunstall. 

Since the tragic episode of a few weeks be- 
fore, in which Paul and Virginia had figured 
prominently, each had taken somewhat more 

130 


131 


A Good Turn Repaid. 

than an ordinary interest in the other. This 
was not unnatural ; not only because of the very 
unusual way in which they had become ac- 
quainted, but if there is one thing above an- 
other that a young man admires in a woman, it 
is a gracious equanimity under trying circum- 
stances. On the other hand if there be a trait 
which a young woman prefers above others in 
a man, it is courage . The latter virtue had been 
exemplified by Paul as truly as the former by 
Virginia. 

“Well, Steve, I am sorry I can’t take you 
with me this time, your constitution might not 
be able to stand the little trip I am going to 
take this afternoon, but sometime I’ll take you 
to see the finest girl in the mountains.” 

With these words, Paul bade his friend a 
farewell with a wave of the hand, while heads 
from several windows of the boarding-hall 
looked out and gave to the hastily retreating 
youth all sorts of comical calls and crudely con- 
ceived but innocent jests. These arrows, with- 
out poison in them, fired from the windows, fell 
harmless upon the object of their aim. Paul 
was soon seated in Mrs. Holdcraft’s parlor talk- 
ing merrily with Virginia Tunstall. 

“I am glad to see you again, Mr. Judson. As 
long as I live I shall be grateful to you for your 
brave help the night you saved me from that 
murderer.” 

“Oh, that’s nothing, Miss Tunstall, I just 


132 


Paul Judson . 


frightened him off, that’s all. If he had stood 
his ground, what would I have done!” said Paul 
with a merry smile. “It was you who rescued 
me, for if you hadn’t fought so bravely, the 
man would have been ready for another fight. 
But the poor fellow was exhausted and didn’t 
care to tackle a fresh recruit, and so he simply 
retreated in good order.” 

“And in right good haste, too,” added Miss 
Tunstall. “Well, the poor wretch has suffered 
the penalty of his misdoing. Oh, say, Mr. Jud- 
son, excuse the sudden change of subject, but 
when does the next athletic contest come off?” 

1 i It will be several weeks yet ; the next event 
in school life is the convention of the college 
Christian Association which holds its annual 
meeting with Marton this year. ’ ’ 

“I’m glad to hear it, I like to see spirit, 
whether it’s in the kicking of a ball, or in the 
making of a Christian.” 

“Well, the boys are taking hold of the affair 
in earnest. We expect at least two hundred 
delegates— all college boys.” 

“No girls? That’s unfair discrimination,” 
remarked Virginia, slyly. 

“But you don’t expect girls to belong to a 
Young Men’s Association, do you?” 

“Not quite that; but when we hold our asso- 
ciation we shall retaliate and not invite you— so 
there! We shall be even.” 

“The young ladies can hurrah for the boys 


A Good Turn Repaid. 


133 


this time, and then when their turn comes we 
will throw up our caps for the girls.’ ’ 

“I’m glad you are a member of the associa- 
tion. You are a Christian then, I suppose.” 

“Yes,” replied Paul, “I am one of the shrink- 
ing members and I trust I am a Christian.” 

“To what church do you belong?” 

“I have not joined any church, though I sup- 
pose I ought.” 

“Not a member of the church and a Chris- 
tian ! Why surely you are not trying to stand 
there?” 

“I presume I am in the wrong, and ought to 
become a member of some church— but, then, 
Miss Tunstall, I wish you would tell me why .” 

One i3 always tempted to question whether 
it is one ’s duty to do what is being neglected. 

“Well,” began Miss Tunstall, “if we are 
Christians it means we are followers of Christ, 
does it not?” 

1 1 Surely it must be so. ’ ’ 

“And to follow means to trust and to obey,— 
does it not?” 

“I suppose it certainly must mean that.” 

“Well, did not Jesus through his apostles, 
establish the church for his followers, and place 
duties upon them which they are to perform? 
And does not the Scripture say ‘ Forsake not the 
assembling of yourselves together as the man- 
ner of some is?’ ” 

“Yes, the Bible seems to be on your side, I 


134 Paul Judson. 

admit, Miss Tunstall; but I have never been 
baptized.’ ’ 

4 ‘Never been baptized? Why, then, you have 
not obeyed an express command of the One 
whom you profess to follow.” 

“Can not one be a Christian without being 
baptized?” inquired Paul. 

“To be sure a person becomes a Christian 
when he yields his life to the Savior. ‘He that 
believeth on the Son hath everlasting life. ’ My 
dear sir, you wish to obey all things, do you not ? ’ ’ 
“Obey? Why, Miss Tunstall, I’ve heard that 
word so often that I ought to have no trouble 
in paying it reverence. It has been taught me 
from the cradle, and that, too, from the dearest 
lips on earth. My trouble is I really do not 
know what my duty is. To tell you a little 
secret— I have been praying earnestly that I 
might know what to do in this very matter. ’ ’ 
“What is it that puzzles you?” asked Miss 
Tunstall, in a tone which not only seemed to 
imply unaffected sympathy, but which also 
awakened confidence as well. 

“To tell you plainly, Miss Tunstall, I am 
puzzled. I was brought up by as good a Chris- 
tian mother as ever lived, and if she had had 
the opportunity she would have had me chris- 
tened long ago. But all the people around our 
country, you know, believe in dipping. I have 
been studying my Bible lately, for I do not wish 
to make a mistake.” 


135 


A Good Turn Repaid . 

r 1 That is the Book in which you may discover 
the way,” added Virginia. “Do you not find 
the Bible plain on the question! Search the 
Scriptures.” 

“You must be a Baptist,” said Paul, smiling. 

“I am, but why do you say so!” 

“Because I’ve noticed that’s what the Bap- 
tists always say. But it is hard for me to think 
that my mother is wrong about it. She is al- 
ways reading her Bible.” 

“Yes, but the best are sometimes mistaken, 
you know,” responded Miss Tunstall, with 
kindly emphasis. “There are very few persons 
who can overcome the influence of their bring- 
ing-up. ’ ’ 

“I think I would have no difficulty in doing 
what is my duty when once made plain,” said 
Paul. The decisiveness with which these words 
were spoken indicated that Paul meant every 
word he said. 

“As I understand it,” said Virginia, “the 
reason why a follower of Jesus should be bap- 
tized is because he commands it.” 

‘ i But there must be some reason why he gave 
the command,” remarked Paul. 

“Of course, he does not bid us do anything 
without a reason, but when he commands any- 
thing, a loyal follower will obey whether he sees 
the reason or not.” 

“I can not think that a person must be bap- 
tized before he can be saved.” 


136 


Paul Judson. 


“No,” said the young lady, “but it is neces- 
sary to obedience.” 

“But is not obedience necessary to salva- 
tion?” injected Paul. 

“Certainly, but the obedience that is neces- 
sary to salvation is obedience of the heart. It 
is no single, outward act of obedience that is 
necessary to salvation — not even baptism, as 
important a place as that holds in the beginning 
of the Christian life. There are many com- 
mands of the Lord which are necessary to 
obedience, but are not set up as a condition 
which has to be fulfilled before one can be 
saved. Salvation is a spiritual matter. It is 
altogether an attitude of the heart. As soon 
as one’s heart is in the right relation to his 
Savior, one is saved. Take an illustration from 
our first parents in the garden. They really 
fell when they determined to disobey and to 
take of the forbidden things. It was the dis- 
obedient heart that ruined them. It was this 
that put them out of harmony with their Maker. ” 

“But what about the outward act— the eating 
of the fruit?” 

“This was simply the outward evidence of a 
disobedient heart, the expression of a sinful de- 
sire that was in their hearts before the act was 
committed.” 

“I see that point. In the Sermon on the 
Mount Jesus said almost the same thing, did he 
not, when he said that if anybody is angry 


137 


A Good Turn Repaid. 

enough to kill his brother, he has already com- 
mitted murder in his heart ? ’ 1 
“You catch the point exactly / 9 
“But explain what has this to do with bap- 
tism V 9 Paul asked. 

“Why, just as disobedience is a matter of the 
heart, so is obedience. Our first parents lost 
the fellowship of their Maker as soon as the 
disobedient spirit entered their hearts. God' 
drove them from the privileges of the garden, 
only after the outward act had been committed. 
So one is saved the moment he puts himself into 
right spiritual relation with God. This is done 
by repentance and faith. In baptism one ex- 
presses outwardly his obedience, and by it one 
is brought into right relations with the outward 
and visible Kingdom in which he is to live and 
labor. But it is repentance and faith, or heart 
obedience that puts one in right relations with 
God. Then, being saved, he goes on to fulfill 
all the other commands, which his Savior re- 
quires— baptism being the first/ ’ 

“Why, Miss Tunstall, you are quite a theolo- 
gian, I did not expect it of you. ’ 9 

“Why not? Don’t you believe that a woman 
thinks and is able to study religious questions ?’ 9 

“You prove to me that at least one of them is 
very able. I have been sitting at your feet as 
an humble learner while you have explained to 
me the things of the Gospel more carefully. 
Was it not a woman who, one day took aside a 


138 


Paul Judson. 


young man named Apollos and showed him how 
little he knew about some of the truths of the 
Gospel, explaining them to him more ac- 
curately ?” 

“And baptism was the subject they talked 
about, was it not?” added Virginia. “Oh,” 
said she, continuing with even greater animation 
than before, “I do wish you could have heard 
Pastor Gates’ sermon last Sunday on ‘What 
Must I Do To Be Saved?’ ” 

‘ ‘ I am sure it must have been good, Miss Vir- 
ginia, for your face even now beams as you 
think about it. What did he say?” 

“He used such a simple and beautiful illus- 
tration to show that no formal or external act 
of ours is necessary to have our sins remitted. 
Salvation, being a spiritual result, is accom- 
plished by spiritual acts alone. ’ ’ 

“I should like to hear the illustration,” per- 
sisted Paul. 

“It is this : God’s offer of mercy to the peni- 
tent, believing soul, is continuous, perpetual, 
like the sun in the heavens, which is perpetually 
giving forth its light. The very instant the 
clouds of doubt are removed from our hearts, 
and we open the soul, the light of God’s mercy 
and forgiveness streams in. He does not hold 
it back until the penitent soul has gone and per- 
formed a ceremony. He can not, indeed, hold 
it back. The door of the heart is open, and the 
ever-shining light streams in, and the man is 



E3B**©n 


“Miss Virginia, * * * your face even now beams as you 
think about it.” 



A Good Turn Repaid. 


139 


saved not because of any act of his own, except 
the opening of his soul’s windows toward 
heaven. Our pastor called attention to what he 
said is a fact that is seen all through the re- 
ligious history of the world; that is, the con- 
stant tendency for men to think that some act 
or work of their own is necessary before God is 
willing to forgive their sins, rather than accept 
the statement ‘By grace are ye saved through 
faith. ’ Do you not remember a little incident 
in Christ’s life, one which occurred just after 
the feeding of the five thousand! Many per- 
sons who had been with him the day before 
went round to the other side of the sea and be- 
gan to question him in this fashion: ‘What 
must we do that we may work the works of 
God!’ Jesus replied ‘This is the work of God, 
that ye believe on him whom he hath sent.’ ” 

“Are’nt you afraid, Miss Virginia, you will 
make me too well satisfied with my faith apart 
from baptism!” 

“No, I would not for a moment cause you to 
feel satisfied unless baptized. But I do think 
that when you are baptized (as I believe you 
will be if you have an obedient heart) it may be 
done with the right view concerning it.” 

“As I understand you then, Miss Tunstall, 
baptism is rather to show one’s obedience than 
to have one’s sins forgiven.” 

‘ ‘ That is it. Baptism is the answer of a good 
conscience. The followers of Christ are bap- 


140 


Paul Judson. 


tized because he asks it of them, and by bap- 
tism they express to the world their entrance 
upon a new life, risen with their risen Lord. ’ 9 
At this point Paul showed a seriousness of 
interest which he had partly concealed or 
rather, held in reserve. Bending forward upon 
his chair, he spoke with an eagerness that had 
not before characterized him. 

“Now, Miss Virginia, you have given me your 
views so ably, I wish to confess to you that I 
have given a great deal of anxious thought to 
this question myself. It is a matter on which 
people seem to differ, and the only thing a body 
can do, so far as I see, is to study it for himself. 
We are not responsible for the beliefs of other 
people, but we are to be held accountable for 
our own beliefs. My view is that the place to go 
is the Bible. I agree with you in that. ’ 9 
“Yes, that is the only book which has any 
authority in these matters . 9 9 

“I promise you I shall go home and not let 
my mind rest till I have worked out the ques- 
tion to a conclusion. You make me feel that I 
have, after all, only scratched upon the surface 
of the subject. By the way, did you read in 
the paper yesterday about the fearful railroad 
wreck down in Tennessee V 9 

“No, I did not see the account.” 

“One hundred people were killed, and the 
whole train was completely wrecked. The paper 
said it was really pitiful to see the conductor, 


A Good Turn Repaid. 141 

who had dragged himself from among the broken 
pieces of the wreck. He ran to and fro, almost 
frantic with grief, wringing his hands and say- 
ing, ‘ It was all my fault. I misread my orders. 
It is all my fault. God forgive me.’ ” 

“Yes, and God has truly given us orders that 
we must read carefully. I trust neither of us 
will misread them. Ignorance of them is dis- 
loyalty when we may know and obey them.” 

“Sound doctrine, Miss Tunstall. You have 
done me good today. My hand, that I shall not 
he satisfied till I have read all the Bible says 
upon this matter. ’ 9 

“Well, when you have finished your search, 
let me know to what conclusion you have come.” 

“There is something in that young man,” 
mused Virginia, as Paul left her and turned in 
the direction of the college. “The world will 
yet hear from him.” 



XIII. 


A WHIFF FROM THE SEA. 

“I am really bothered about Marcus,” said 
Mrs. Judson to her friend, Mrs. Filson, one day, 
as they sat together in the little cottage at 
Hawk’s Nest. They were talking over the past 
and present of their work-a-day struggles, and 
now and then told something of the hopes and 
fears their hearts had known. Mrs. Filson was, 
therefore, very fond of running over the hill 
to have a friendly chat with the heroic little 
woman who was the soul of Hawk’s Nest. Run- 
ning, however, is too athletic a word to use of 
Mrs. Filson ’s power of locomotion; for as thi3 
quaint neighbor of Mrs. Judson ’s used fre- 
quently to say of herself, “I’m mighty bad on 
my feet.” 

But good or bad, Mrs. Filson could easily make 
her feet carry her more than a half mile across 
a rugged mountain path in order to reach the 
door of her best friend. The truth is, Mrs. 
Filson loved a neighborly comparison of per- 
sonal and domestic notes— what woman does 


142 


A Whiff From the Sea. 


143 


not!— about things in general, and men and 
women in particular; about the little burdens 
that harrass and the perplexities that puzzle 
the heart. 

“Bothered ’bout Marcus! Well, Matilda Jud- 
son, you’re alius worried ’bout them young ’uns. 
If you ain’t bothered ’bout somp’en, you’re 
bothered ’bout somp’en else.” 

Mrs. Judson was serious. She was troubled 
about her younger child. The reports from Paul 
at Wilton were all gratifying, indeed. His 
mother missed the youth, and sometimes talked 
of him, and even to him on her knees, as if com- 
muning with him through the medium of a 
throne of heavenly grace. Paul’s future seem- 
ed, at least to his fond mother, a thing assured. 

But concerning Marcus, the good lady was 
burdened with an ever-deepening solicitude. 
Not that Marcus was a bad boy. He was not. 
He in the main, was obedient, reverent, true. 
And yet books did not appeal to him, except as 
they might tell of adventure. He worked the 
field, hoed the garden and attended to his 
duties about the house, but never with that 
manifest joy which should ordinarily accom- 
pany the execution of life’s every-day tasks. 
This was quite noticeable to Mrs. Judson, 
whose maternal eyes were always alert for her 
boy’s happiness and her heart ever solicitous 
of his highest good. 

There was one old book which Marcus had 


144 


Paul Judson. 



found among some rubbish on a top sbelf in a 
closet of the house, that gave him extraordinary 
delight. How long the faded volume had been 
stored in that cuddy no one knew. The book 
was yellow with age— a chunky little volume al- 
most as thick as it was high. The back had 
long since perished, and these words were still 
visible in large letters upon the title page : “A 
Narrative of the Voyages Round the World 
Performed by Captain James Cook, With an 
Account of His Life During the Previous and 
Intervening Periods. ,, 

Marcus had thumbed through these pages 
may times. The opening paragraph he could 
repeat by heart : ‘ ‘ Captain J ames Cook had no 
claim to distinction on account of the luster of 
his birth, or the dignity of his ancestors. His 
father, James Cook, who from his dialect is 
supposed to have been a Northumbrian, was in 
the humble station of a servant in husbandry, 
and married a woman of the same rank as him- 
self, whose Christian name was Grace, etc.” 
The thrilling account of Cook’s capture and his 
death at the hands of the savages, Marcus had 


A Whiff From the Sea. 


145 


read many times. The youth’s knowledge of 
geography was acquired as much through the 
reading of the voyages of this great adventurer 
as from the little schooling he had been able to 
secure at the log school near Hawk’s Nest. 

When called upon to recite on Friday after- 
noons in the little one-room schoolhouse, Marcus 
had twice chosen poems on Captain Cook, which 
he had learned from the closing pages of his 
worm-eaten volume— one of these beginning 
with his favorite lines : 

“Give, give me flowers; with garlands of renown, 
Those glorious exiles’ brows my hands shall crown, 
Who nobly sought on distant coasts to find, 

Or thither bore those arts that bless mankind.” 

Into lines like those Marcus could throw his 
whole zestful soul. There was one portion of 
the Bible also which Marcus had thumbed, read 
and re-read, far oftener than any other. It was 
the twenty-seventh chapter of the Acts. He 
seemed never to tire of this thrilling account of 
Paul’s shipwreck upon the island of Malta. No 
detail escaped his notice, though he had never 
seen a boat in all his life; and so far as any 
one knew, he had seen but one picture of a ship. 
This faded chromo, his father, Robert Judson, 
had brought with him from Virginia as a 
memento of those romantic hut sad experiences 
of boyhood, with the wild, inhospitable waters. 
And yet the picture, which hung over the large 


146 


Pcml Judson . 



fireplace in the rough chamber of the Judsons, 
presented the gala side of life upon the sea 
A ship in full sail, its canvas swelling with the 
energy of a swift gale, ploughed its way ma- 
jestically through the hounding waters, won- 
drous mistress of wind and wave. It moved 
like a thing of life, every nerve stretched, every 
cord and tendon thrilling with vital power, re- 
joicing as a giant to run a race. 

Marcus could not look upon this animated 
scene without feeling his heart leap with a 
strange emotion. Those who make much of the 
doctrine of heredity, would doubtless call this 
atavism — the reappearance of the trait of an 
ancestor. The great-grandf ather ’s passionate 
love for the deep had appeared again in the 
youth; and it seemed as strong as was his 
father’s aversion to the roving life of the sea- 
farer. Others might affirm that it was the in- 
fluence of the entrancing picture upon the im- 
pressible life of this young man of the moun- 
tains, causing the thoughts of his life to turn 
in a new current, and so to set his heart upon 


A Whiff From the Sea 147 

what was to him a novel and an untried affec- 
tion. 

Both these interpreters of this not uncommon 
fact in human experience would doubtless be 
correct. We live in our ancestors and our an- 
cestors in us. This is one of the mysterious 
facts of life; the old religion and the new 
science hearing clear testimony to the same 
awful truth. “None of us liveth unto himself 
and none dieth unto himself ,, are the words of 
Holy Writ. Men die and leave the record of 
their lives, not upon the sands of time always, 
but more vitally upon the tablets of human 
hearts, even of those yet unborn ; showing that 
men are truly parts one of another. 

This one picture, only a small part appar- 
ently, of the young man’s environments, served 
to call out latent tendencies of his life. As 
the tiny pebble turns the mighty stream to its 
final destiny, so a small and time-worn picture 
turned the current of Marcus’ life with irre- 
sistible impulse toward the wide, wide waters he 
had never seen. 

One evening the two devoted dwellers at 
Hawk’s Nest were seated before the blazing 
wood fire on the large hearth of their cabin 
home. There was no light save that which the 
well-seasoned oak logs gave forth in the twilight 
of a chilly April day. Neither had spoken to 
the other for a half hour or more. Mrs. Judson 
was drowsy, wearied with a hard day’s work. 


148 


Paul Judson. 


She had been getting ready for planting time 
in her garden. The season had been backward, 
the ground was still damp and chilly; but she 
wished to be ready when the first favorable 
moment came for the plowing and the planting. 

Some of the neighbors said that the Judsons 
were “the luckiest dogs about raisin’ and savin’ 
their crops they ever seed. ’ ’ The truth is, ever 
since Robert Judson fell heir to the little farm 
at Hawk’s Nest, there had been remarkable 
thrift, considering the size of the patch and the 
quality of the soil. What some of his neighbors 
interpreted as luck was simply such attention 
to his work as that every opportunity was em- 
braced for doing the right thing at the right 
time . Indeed, he brought up his family upon 
certain homely maxims which followed them 
long after he himself had departed, and which 
were forever wrought into their characters. 
Among the maxims laid down for his own 
guidance was the old saw: “A place for every- 
thing and everything in its place;” and out of 
this he had coined another : “A time for every- 
thing and everything in its time.” Hence, it 
was, that when others less careful had not 
housed their hay or their grain and the weather 
caught it on the ground, the Judsons were hap- 
py with theirs safely in the barn. Those who 
sat and whittled sticks and talked crops at the 
country store thought Bob Judson “the luckiest 
dog that ever lived.” But Judson knew it to 


A Whiff From the Sea. 


149 


be simply common forethought and industry. 

Such habits became a part of the running gear 
of the work-a-day world of the Judson establish- 
ment. There was no harder working woman 
than Mrs. Judson to be found in all the moun- 
tains. Were you to have searched the plains, 
you could probably have found no more diligent 
keeper-at-home. 

Marcus, like his mother, had been busy 
enough during the lengthening spring days ; but 
unlike her, possessed a burning thought within 
his heart which struggled for expression. There 
was something he had long wished to say, but 
knew not how , for he feared it would break his 
mother’s heart. Several times before, he had 
made up his mind to disclose his secret to her, 
as they sat during the long winter evenings, but 
each time his courage had failed him. More 
than once he had retired to his bed, not knowing 
whether to call himself a coward for not speak- 
ing, or to regard his failure as a command of his 
better nature to be silent, and let the whole sub- 
ject die within his bosom. 

c ‘ Mother,” said he, plucking up courage. 

The good woman in a moment was brought 
back from the borders of the dream country, 
around which for some moments she had been 
hovering. 

“ What is it, my son?” 

* ‘ Mother, I have made up my mind to follow 
the sea.” 


150 


Paul Judson. 


“Follow what, Marcus?” 

“I have decided to make my living upon the 
water,” answered the youth. 

i i What water, my dear ? ’ ’ 

“Certainly, mother, not on Troublesome 
Creek,” referring to the mountain stream that 
ran hard by their home. 

“My son, you don’t mean the ocean?” 

“Yes, mother, the big sea,” replied Marcus, 
with unmistakable accents that spoke forth his 
earnestness. With this, he instinctively glanced 
upward, toward the picture above the fireplace. 

“And be a sailor?” 

“Yes, mother, a sailor.” 

The good woman sat motionless for a mo- 
ment, stricken as by a sharpened arrow. Then 
her head fell suddenly into her hands and her 
hands sank to her knees. Marcus sat silent, for 
he did not know what to say. Tears welled up 
in his eyes and a great swelling began to choke 
his powers of speech. For a moment, Mrs. 
Judson sat with her head bowed in her hands, 
and then dropping upon her knees, she threw 
herself across the chair in which she had been 
sitting. So long did she remain in this posture 
that Marcus at length arose from his seat and 
stealing quietly out of the room, left his mother 
alone in prayer. 

It was not the first time Marcus had men- 
tioned the dream of a sea-faring life. But his 
mother had never quite taken him seriously. 


A Whiff From the Sea . 


151 


Indeed, she could not think that a boy who had 
never seen a body of water larger than Trouble- 
some Creek— which, except in times of freshet, 
a small boy could leap across— a youth who had 
spent all his life five hundred miles from the 
tide-waters, would ever really wish to make 
his way to the coast and risk his life upon the 
great deep. 

But Mrs. Judson was mistaken. She had not 
reckoned with all the forces that were throbbing 
in her son’s bosom. She had been for years 
praying that Paul, the eldest son who had been 
spared her, might he a great statesman and 
leader of men; and that Marcus, the younger, 
might be an humble “ minister of the Word.” 
She was an ambitious mother, as ambitious for 
her sons as though they had been brought up in 
the midst of the densest population, and sur- 
rounded by the highest opportunities for suc- 
cess. Like the mother of Zebedee’s children, 
she wished for her boys high seats in the king- 
dom of human undertaking; and if one might 
sit on the right hand, the other on the left, she 
would be forever happy. What Paul would be, 
she did not now even dare to surmise. She 
had at least decided to leave that with him and 
the Almighty. As for Marcus, her hopes seem- 
ed rudely and irrevocably dashed in pieces. 

The boy went to his bed, but did not sleep. 
The evident shock that his words of disclosure 
had given to his mother had caused his own 


152 


Paul Judson. 


filial nature to recoil. Arising after a little, he 
tiptoed to the door of his mother’s room. She 
was still upon her knees. Now, he could hear 
the muffled notes of her voice in prayer; and 
now, all was silent. Eeturning to his bed, he 
finally fell asleep. 

Early, as the gray light of the morning shone 
into the window, Marcus arose and to his great 
surprise found his mother in the exact spot he 
had left her. She had been alternately weeping 
and praying, till heavy with exhaustion she fell 
asleep upon her knees, with her head buried in 
the calico-covered cushion of her easy chair. 
Marcus touched her upon the shoulder, and 
without uttering a word, went out to perform 
his morning tasks. 

Days and nights went by. Neither had dared 
to trust a word to the other on the subject which 
had manifestly stirred the hearts of both to 
their very depths. 

Do not unaccountable drawings, compelling 
to paths unknown, often prove highways along 
which the hand of a Divine Father leads the 
child-life into preparation for a wider and richer 
field of blessedness? It might be so with Mar- 
cus. His mother could only wait and pray, and 
give her best counsel. Beyond this, the veil was 
yet to be lifted. 


XIV. 


A PATH FOUND. 


“How glorious, Paul ! 
I was at the church 
Sunday, and I assure 
you it was one of the 
happiest days of my 
life.” 

y “Well, Virginia, I 



confess it was 
truly one of the 
happiest I have 
ever known, ’ ’ re- 
plied Paul. 

“Yes, to feel 
that at last you 
had reached a 


Slbs 


1 S3 


154 


Paul Judson. 


decision on a matter which had given yon so 
much trouble ; and, what is better still, that you 
had the courage of your convictions; to have 
obeyed the Voice when once it was made clear 
to you— this must have given you unspeakable 
delight. You have at last followed your Lord 
in baptism. ’ 9 

“It did give me joy, I assure you. I had been 
a Christian in my humble way for years ; for I 
remember well that on a night which stands 
out clear in my thought, when all others had 
retired for the night, except mother and me; 
when I was about to say my prayers at her knee, 
she put her hand on my head as I knelt, and 
asked me if I would not there dedicate myself 
to the Savior, repenting of my childish sins 
and taking him as my Friend and Redeemer. I 
had long loved the One who had been held up 
to me as the Savior of the world ; him who was 
so pure and good, so kind and unselfish; One 
who had willingly died that men might be saved. 
I could not remember the moment that I did 
not love him. But not till that evening had I 
made him my own Savior by a choice of my 
own. I was nine years old then, Miss Virginia. 
That same sweet voice that had taught me to 
love him from my very infancy fed me to choose 
him for myself. Next morning— how well do I 
remember it— the sun shone brighter, the birds 
sang sweeter, the air seemed purer. Loved ones 
became more dear and the whole world wore 


A Path Found . 


156 


for me a brighter face. That was a happy day, 
and I rejoice every time I recall it.” 

“How delightful to have had such an ex- 
perience, ’ ’ added Virginia. 

“That was my conversion,” continued Paul. 
4 4 It could have been nothing else. It must have 
been at this time that God gave me the new 
heart, for I am sure everything seemed new. 
As nothing had really changed about me, I 
think it must have been myself, my inner soul 
that had been renewed. ’ 9 

4 4 How intensely interesting was your ex- 
perience, Paul.” 

4 4 Since that time I know I have been trying 
to follow the lead of the Master, and there have 
been moments when I am sure I have had the 
Holy Spirit’s presence with me, when strug- 
gling and discouraged and sad, I have looked 
to him for light. 

4 4 But,” continued Paul, “I longed for some 
good opportunity to show, in a better way, my 
loyalty and obedience. I had never made a 
public confession of my Savior, till one Sun- 
day just after I came to Wilton I stood before 
a large congregation and let all know that I 
belonged to Another. I had come upon that 
passage of Scripture which reads, 4 For with 
the heart man believeth unto righteousness 
and with the mouth confession is made unto 
salvation, ’ and I thought that now I had done all 
that was necessary for me to do, but yet I was 


156 


Paul Judson. 


not satisfied with my discipleship. How could 
a Christian be satisfied without baptism and a 
church connection ?” 

“Did I not tell you that as you studied your 
Bible carefully and followed the Spirit’s 
guidance you would surely come to that?” Vir- 
ginia injected. 

“Yes, but, Virginia, that which held me back 
from keeping the command of the Master to be 
baptized was not a disobedient spirit. If I 
know my own heart it was not that. It was the 
inability to decide how I ought to be baptized. 
Being puzzled about that, I at last began ac- 
tually to ask why I ought to be baptized at all; 
what was the good of it; what it means, and 
why the Lord commanded it? You remember 
the first conversation we had on this subject. I 
found it easy to get far out of the way with 
doubts and questionings when once I hesitated 
to press forward to perfect obedience.” 

“I would love so much for you to give me the 
entire account of your mind’s struggles in this 
matter. You have been so kind as to tell me 
this, much of your heart-history; I hope you may 
not think me impertinent in wishing to know 
more,” said Virginia, sympathetically. 

The truth is, the first acquaintance between 
these two students of Marton— begun with so 
unusual an introduction— had grown into friend- 
ship, and friendship had ripened into a de- 
lightful intimacy which had been greatly profit- 


A Path Found . 


157 


able to the lives of both. Paul was frequently 
a visitor to Mrs. Holdcraft’s, and the moments 
he had spent in Virginia Tunstall’s company 
were doing as much to give the touches of refine- 
ment and culture to his character as any single 
influence at Marton. 

Human lives are always responsive to the 
impress of human sympathy. The sense of 
having the deserved appreciation of others is 
a boon which every balanced soul craves. There 
is no man so frigid as that there may not be 
found on the sunny side of his life a door which 
flies open to the gentle pressure of a sympathetic 
heart. How much more is a young man im- 
pressible to good influences, who is seeking to 
know and to possess the best. 

Virginia Tunstall had helped Paul in his soul 
struggles quite as much as any minister he had 
met, or book he had read. His difficulty was a 
peculiar one— yet one not unknown to the 
religious life of many. It was the struggle be- 
tween the power of early teaching and the 
more intimate beliefs of later years, the latter 
being that precious territory of truth which 
one must win on his own account, or else never 



158 


Paul Judson. 


really possess. Some, as their minds expand, 
passing from the age of submission to authority 
to the age of mental independence, from intel- 
lectual youth to intellectual manhood, reach the 
heights of liberty only after traversing a 
dubious valley of the shadows. Doubts disturb 
them here, and even the fundamentals of their 
faith are questioned. This is transition— a 
passing from the instilled beliefs of childhood 
to convictions that one may call his own. Hap- 
pily, Paul had never seriously questioned the 
fundamentals. His soul could say, “I have 
felt.” Probably few of his age had ever had 
more vital experiences. These anchored him. 
For personal experience is the very best wit- 
ness to the truth of Jesus. “Come and see” 
has always been the Master’s method with the 
honest, inquiring heart. 

And yet, in matters of moment in the religious 
life, Paul came to doubt the teaching of his 
childhood. His godly mother, whose faith he 
could not but pronounce genuine as proved by 
her life-long works, had taught him that bap- 
tism is a parental dedication, which, in years 
of personal faith and accountability, the child 
himself is to endorse. Finding no trace of this 
idea in the Scriptures in connection with bap- 
tism, he began to doubt its correctness. It was 
this that had delayed his union with any Chris- 
tian church ; putting it off for many months even 
after there was ample opportunity for him to 


A Path Found. 


159 


come into fellowship with a body of believers. 

“Virginia,” continued Paul, “I can not help 
feeling that those who first introduced the 
changes from New Testament practice will have 
a great deal to answer for in the day of reckon- 
ing ; for they have brought confusion into many 
minds, and in the church of Christ made divi- 
sions. Suppose all had kept closely to the ex- 
ample and teaching of Jesus and his apostles, 
how much better it would be for the whole Chris- 
tian world. ’ 9 

“Yes,” said the young man. “I notice that 
all churches accept the immersion of a believer 
as baptism, but when it gets beyond that, then 
many differences arise. These have caused all 
sorts of division. 

“Why,” continued Paul, “Christians can’t 
even partake of the Lord’s Supper together, 
because of these departures from the New 
Testament way. I say again ; that those who in- 
troduced these changes will have much to 
answer for.” 

“The Romanists say that they introduced 
them, ’ ’ ventured Virginia. 

“Yes, I have read that the Romanists claim 
that they had a right to make these changes in 
the form of baptism and even to decide who 
should be baptized.” 

“I was reading that just the other day. It 
was at the Council of Ravenna in the thirteenth 
century that the Roman Catholic Church de- 


160 


Paul Judson. 


cided that sprinkling or pouring might he freely 
substituted for immersion— although departure 
from the New Testament way had been grow- 
ing in different parts of the world for a long 
time before. I read sometime ago that the 
earliest reference to pouring or sprinkling as 
Christian baptism is found in a dusty manu- 
script discovered a few years ago in an old 
convent at Constantinople, which was written 
about one hundred and fifty years after Christ. ’ ’ 

‘ i What did that say?” inquired Paul, with 
much curiosity. 

1 i It said that in case there could not be found 
water enough in a stream or in a pool in which 
to immerse, then water was to be poured three 
times on the head of the person to be baptized. 
But the writing, of course, had no authority, ex- 
cept that it shows that immersion was regarded 
as the true method and pouring allowed by this 
writer in extreme cases.” 

“But what dry country do you suppose that 
writer had in his mind when he wrote that ? I 
should think that a land so dry that water 
enough to dip the body in could not be found; 
would hardly be a place where people would 
care to live.” 

“But I suppose the regulation was intended 
more for sick people who could not be carried 
to a pool or stream, or whose life might be en- 
dangered by an immersion.” 

“That reminds me of a statement I read in 


A Path Found . 


161 


a history just the other day. It was said that 
the way in which sprinkling and pouring came 
into use, was in the baptizing of sick people, who 
could not be immersed because of their weak- 
ness.’ ’ 

4 ‘If that is history, it also seems to me to be 
quite probable. But why should it be so neces- 
sary to baptize people when they are sick?” 

“Why, that is clear enough— there were many 
persons then, as there are now, who have a 
wrong notion concerning the ordinance; they 
suppose that a person can not be saved unless 
he is baptized; and so they thought that if it 
was not possible to carry out the command to 
be immersed, then something else should be 
found to take the place of what was com- 
manded.” 

“I see that— and mothers, of course, would 
not wish their infants to be lost, and so the bap- 
tism of infants came into use as a result of this 
false doctrine that no one can be saved without 
baptism.” 

“Yes, and there it is again ; when once a false 
teaching gets into the world it makes all sorts 
of confusion. I believe that all God’s people 
ought to believe and practice the same thing in 
these matters. These differences have kept my 
mind in doubt for months and months. And I 
believe that if that false idea that God does not 
blot out a man’s sins till he has been baptized 
had not gotten into people’s minds there would 


162 


Paul Judson. 


have been no sprinkling or pouring and no 
baptism of unconscious infants, and so Chris- 
tianity would not be divided up into so many 
different sects / 9 

1 ‘ Paul, you seem to speak feelingly. You 
have studied this question a good deal . 9 9 

“Well, I have been reading much on the sub- 
ject lately; and I heard, too, a long discussion 
on the subject between Mr. Dodson and the 
evangelist who held those revival meetings at 
his church a year or so ago. They belong to the 
same faith and order, but on these questions 
they had opposite views. I enjoyed hearing 
them talk, for on some of the points I had been 
disturbed myself. One of them held that a 
person obeys his Lord in baptism because he 
has already experienced divine grace in his 
heart. The other thought that no one could 
claim any grace till after he had been immersed. 
That discussion, which I heard one day in my 
room, gave me as much light on the subject as 
I have had from any other source, except the 
Bible.” 

‘ ‘ I remember those revival meetings. I heard 
the preacher several times, and I could not, for 
the life of me see any difference between his 
views on this matter and the views held by our 
Baptist people. But I understand Mr. Dodson 
preached a series of sermons after the meetings 
which combatted his friend's views most 
vigorously.” 


A Path Found. 


163 


“Some time ago, Miss Virginia, I had a 
peculiar experience, which also went a great 
way to help me make up my mind on the sub- 
ject of my own baptism. Do you know Mrs. 
Nash, the crippled lady who lived around on 
Cedar street? She liked for the students to 
come around and read to her. For many years 
she hadn’t walked a step, but on good days she 
could be wheeled out in her invalid’s chair to 
get a whiff of pure air and a little sunlight. I 
have often gone around to see her for a few 
minutes, to carry her a flower, and to read to 
her from her Bible. She seldom failed to bring 
the old Book out. She just poked it, yellow 
with age, into the hands of the friends who 
called, that she might hear a few verses from 
one of her favorite chapters. 

“A week or so ago I dropped in to see her for 
a few minutes and was told that Mrs. Nash was 
very ill. She had had a stroke, the lady who 
keeps the house said. ‘But,’ added the woman, 
1 she would be very glad to see you a minute, for 
she has been asking all day for some one to 
take a message to the minister for her.’ 

“I went in,” continued Paul, “and almost be- 
fore I could take a seat, the poor, suffering 
woman asked me if I would go at once and bring 
Mr. Gates to see her. She had something im- 
portant on her mind, which was giving her trou- 
ble. ‘Go right at once, and don’t leave the 
message ; bring him yourself and God bless you 


164 


Paul Judson. 


for it ! ’ She spoke as emphatically as her feeble 
voice would permit. So I went at once to the 
minister’s house, and in about fifteen minutes 
by the watch we were both seated by her bed- 
side. I motioned to go out, but she beckoned me 
to sit down. 

“ 4 Brother Gates,’ said the sick woman, very 
earnestly, ‘ I am going to die and I want you to 
baptize me.’ 

“ ‘ Baptize you,’ said the preacher, with 
amazement. ‘Why, I have often heard you say 

that you joined the M church when you 

were but a girl.’ 

“ ‘That’s true,’ replied the woman, ‘but when 
I joined the church I thought I had been 
sprinkled when I was an infant, but I found out 
a number of years afterwards from an old aunt 
that it was a mistake; that my mother asked 
a minister to christen me, but he refused, be- 
cause neither my mother nor my father were 
then Christians. Since that time I have been 
intending to be baptized, but have put it off 
till now ; and so I have sent for you. ’ 

“ ‘But, my dear woman, you are too ill to be 
baptized. ’ 

“ ‘Can you not sprinkle mel’ asked the dying 
woman, imploringly. 

“ ‘Madam,’ replied the minister, ‘you know I 
do not believe in that method of baptizing. I 
would do anything for you in your distress of 
mind, but I do not regard anything as baptism 


A Path Found . 


165 


except it be just what Christ commanded. ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ But I do not wish to die without being bap- 
tized, ’ protested the woman. 

“ ‘I am very sorry you have delayed this im- 
portant duty till you are physically unable to 
comply with the command, but, Mrs. Nash, it is 
not the baptism after all that is going to save 
you. If you are saved, you are saved by per- 
sonal faith in Jesus Christ. I beg you think of 
him and lean hard upon his strong arm. It is 
to him you must look, for “As Moses lifted up 
the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the 
Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever he - 
lievetli in him should not perish but have eternal 
life.” ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, I am trusting him, but, oh, sir, I have 
not obeyed him as I should . 9 

“ ‘But, Mrs. Nash/ replied the minister, ‘if 
you are now too feeble to obey him in baptism, 
he does not require it of you. Trust in Christ. 
Your salvation depends on him and not on any 
work you can do.’ 

“ ‘I know that, Brother Gates, but there was 
a time when I might have obeyed him in this 
command, but I put it off— and you say it is 
now too late?’ 

“ ‘I fear it is, my sister, unless the Lord 
should yet spare your life and restore you to 
such health as that you can be baptized in the 
way he directs. So far as your present obe- 
dience is concerned, God will take your sincere 


166 


Paul Judson. 


desire for the deed ; so far as your past neglect 
is concerned, I am sure you would now be no 
better off for doing something God does not 
command in an effort to obey that which he does 
command. ’ 

“Mrs. Nash tried to turn her face to the wall 
and for a time was silent. She was a good 
woman ; known among her neighbors as a pious, 
exemplary Christian. Before her affliction, 
which was now of long standing, she was active 
in all religious duties, and the worthy poor had 
always found in her a friend. But she had un- 
fortunately imbibed two erroneous and incon- 
sistent notions concerning baptism— the one, 
that it is a mere form that might be neglected, 
and the other that in some way it plays a very 
important part in a person’s salvation; rather 
than that it is an expressive symbol of a salva- 
tion already wrought out in the heart. During 
her comparative health she had been under the 
influence of the first error and had put off bap- 
tism ; but in her illness her mind was torn with 
fears, as she labored under the influence of 
the second error. She died, trusting in the 
Savior’s love, but deeply regretting that she 
had never availed herself of the blessed privi- 
lege of following her Lord in baptism, and in 
the appointed way confessing him before men. 
In her last moments, this reflection brought a 
certain bitterness of heart. But Mr. Gates held 
her hand, and with a tender heart pointed her 


A Path Found . 167 


to the Lamb of God whose blood alone can take 
away the sin of the world.’ ’ 



Virginia was deeply interested as Paul told 
the story of the passing of this well known hut 
humble figure from the community a few weeks 
before. For a number of years young men of 
Marton College had found it a means of grace 
to go to her house during her close confinement 
and read the Scriptures and other good books 
to her, as did also Mr. Gates, the minister. 

“I became acquainted with Mr. Gates for 
the first time, ’ ’ said Paul, ‘ 4 on that day at Mrs. 
Nash’s. He talked to the lady so kindly and so 
sensibly, I at once felt that he must he telling 
the truth on the great subjects about which he 
talked so tenderly. From that time I began to 
read my Bible more carefully as to the meaning 
and the form of baptism, and the part it has in 
the Christian life. 

“Miss Virginia,” continued Paul, “I tell you, 
I really enjoyed the study. I found that the 
Scriptures became a great delight when I com- 
menced to read them with some definite aim. I 
do not believe that aimless reading of the Bible 


168 


Paul Judson. 


does one much good, do you? But when one 
reads for a purpose, with his mind open— that 
the Scriptures may say just what they please 
to say— searching the Scriptures becomes a real 
joy. Some people seem to me to search the 
Scriptures just to have the Bible prove their 
own opinions.” 

“How did you do your searching?” asked the 
young lady. 

“I sat down several Sunday nights in suc- 
cession and brought together all the passages I 
could find on the question, ‘What must I do to 
be saved?’ ” 

“What did you find out?” asked Virginia, 
showing an ever deepening interest in the plan 
of Paul ’s study and the turn which the conversa- 
tion had taken. 

“'Why, I found,” replied Paul, “that there 
were two kinds of passages— those in which 
baptism is mentioned and those in which it is 
not referred to.” 

“What did you do then?” asked the young 
lady, with sustained interest. ‘ ‘ Did you simply 
decide with the majority of the passages?” 

“No, I did not do that. The most of the pas- 
sages do not mention baptism, but some of them 
do.” 

“This is interesting. I never thought to com- 
pare all the Scriptures in that way. I am 
anxious to know how you unraveled what looks 
like a hard knot.” 


A Path, Found. 


169 


“Now, Miss Virginia, I do not set myself up 
as competent to unravel knotty Bible questions. 
But I was trying to study this question for my- 
self and in my own way. I have often heard 
that the Bible is a plain book for plain people.” 

‘ ‘ I am just longing to know to what conclusion 
you came,” remarked Virginia, eagerly. 

“Well,” responded Paul, “I saw that faith, 
or repentance and faith, is required everywhere, 
and so I concluded that these must be neces- 
sary. I concluded also that if baptism were 
necessary to salvation the writers would surely 
not have omitted it in any place. For then they 
would be leading those astray to whom they 
spoke the words.” 

“Why did the writers insert baptism then 
in a few places as if it were necessary to salva- 
tion, and leave it out in the great majority of 
passages!” inquired Virginia, deeply interested 
in Paul’s own method of working out the ques- 
tion for himself. 

“I could not think,” said Paul, “that Jesus, 
or any of the apostles would be so neglectful as 
to leave out baptism in a single case, if bap- 
tism is necessary to the forgiving of sins. When 
the Philippian jailer asked what he should do 
to be saved, the apostle answered, ‘ Believe on 
the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.’ 
How emphatic the Lord himself was when he 
said, ‘ He that heareth my word and believeth on 
him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and 


170 


Paul Judson . 


shall not come into condemnation, but is passed 
from death unto life/ There are very many 
passages like those two. But, on the other 
hand, there are a few passages like this, 4 Re- 
pent and be baptized every one of you in the 
name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins/ 
which links baptism so closely with forgiveness 
that if it were not for the large number of other 
passages where baptism is not mentioned, one 
might think baptism to be essential to salva- 
tion. But it all becomes clear, if we explain the 
matter in this way— that when a man repents, 
or believes, (for he can not really repent with- 
out believing, nor truly believe without repent- 
ing), he is expected to follow it up at once by 
obeying in baptism— not that the baptism has 
any part in the taking away of the sins, but in 
expressing the fact that the sins are taken away. 
So important is it that he should not stop with 
repentance and faith but should obey in bap- 
tism, that the ordinance is joined immediately 
with those essential heart experiences which are 
the things that bring Christ’s salvation to men. 
And I have noticed, too, that the Bible never 
connects baptism with salvation when the in- 
spired words are addressed to a Gentile, to any 
outsider. They might misunderstand the con- 
nection. The J ews knew the use of such symbols 
and it seems clear that no one of them would 
ever think for a moment that this symbol was 
intended to save him, except in a figurative 


A Path Found . 


171 


sense. Do you understand me, Virginia? Bap- 
tism is necessary to perfect obedience, and is 
the divinely appointed way of expressing the 
fact that one’s sins have been forgiven and that, 
henceforth, one is to walk in a new life. 

“When I found out this,” Paul added, “I 
felt I was not doing right, as one who believed 
on the Lord Jesus Christ, to neglect the im- 
portant command to be baptized. I came at last 
to the conclusion, with those Scripture passages 
before me, that one who professes to follow 
Christ and is claiming his salvation, and yet 
who deliberately refuses to obey the first com- 
mand God gives to him as a Christian, certainly 
has not the spirit of obedience in his heart, and 
is mistaken about his really being a follower 
of Christ.” 

“Yes, I have often met persons who seem to 
think that because baptism is not essential to 
their being saved that it can be left oft en- 
tirely. This is like the little boy who was always 
calculating how disobedient he could be without 
being punished for it. I have always thought 
it is unworthy of a Christian to say, ‘ I will keep 
only those commands of God which are neces- 
sary to my own salvation.’ I fear such people 
will never be saved; because such a spirit isn’t 
that of obedience, at all.” 

“You are right in this,” answered Paul. 
“The true Christian should not ask how many 
of Christ’s commands can I leave off and yet 


172 


Paul Judson. 


be saved ; but how closely can I obey his will— 
because he has saved me.” 

‘ 1 Capital/ ’ added Virginia. “You will be a 
theologian one of these days, if you keep on, 
Paul.” 

“As soon as I found out the real meaning and 
place of baptism in the Christian life, I at once 
went to the church and asked baptism at the 
hands of Mr. Cates. And last Sunday was a 
day of great "joy to me; for at last I had won a 
battle which had long waged in my heart. ’ 9 



THE LAST OF THE BERTRAMS. 


Is not Satan forever on the ground 1 How he 
watches the main chance, and how apt is he in 
taking advantage of a crisis. 

The next day after Paul’s confession of faith 
in baptism, there came his “ temptation in the 
wilderness.” The moment of the soul’s highest 
exaltation may be followed closely by a period 
of deepest depression and doubt. 

President Holden had announced that stu- 
dents who occupied rooms alone might be com- 
pelled to secure room-mates. The beginning of 
the second half-session had brought a larger 
number of new students than usual, and the new 
dormitory— donated by a Northern millionaire 
who had visited Wilton and had admired the 
fine spirit and thorough work done there— was 
not yet completed. Several of the students, on 
hearing the announcement, made their voluntary 
alliances and ‘ 1 doubled up, ’ ’ as they called it. 

Still the new students came pouring in . To- 
i73 


in 


Paul Judson. 


ward the latter part of the week, the janitor 
brought a note to Paul’s room, upon the back of 
which the handwriting of the president was 
recognized at a glance. ‘ 6 Summoned before the 
faculty” was the first half jocular suggestion 
that passed through Paul’s mind. 

“My dear Mr. Judson, I would like to see you 
at my room for a few moments. Hastily, The 
President. ’ ’ 

Paul put on his hat and walked hurriedly 
across the campus to the president’s office. 

“Have a seat, Paul. I have sent for you to 
help me out of a little difficulty. I have just re- 
ceived a telegram from Middleshoro that two 
young men who are brothers, will be here on the 
evening train. Their parents, naturally, will 
wish them to room together. You have no room- 
mate. I feel I shall be compelled to evict you 
from room 146,” said President Holden, pleas- 
antly, “or else I shall have to find you a help- 
meet!” 

‘ ‘ V ery well, Mr. Holden, ’ ’ replied Paul. 4 4 But 
I feel attached to old 146. I have had some good 
times in that room. If you can find me a good, 
quiet room-mate, I prefer to stay where I am.” 

“All right,” said the president. “Let me 
look over my register and see what young men 
are still rooming alone. I shall cheerfully give 
you your pick of them— if the other fellow is 
willing, ’ ’ he added, with a twinkle in his eye. 

The register was examined. Punning care- 


The Last of the Bertrams. 


175 


fully down the columns, the president at length 
raised his eyes with surprise. 

“Why! Is it possible? I find only one young 
man beside yourself, in the college without a 
room-mate. That is Floyd Bertram. ’ ’ 

“Floyd Bertram?” asked Paul, slowly and 
thoughtfully. 

It was manifest that Paul’s countenance had 
fallen. Floyd Bertram was the young man 
whom Paul had recognized the day after his ar- 
rival at Wilton as the son of the man who held 
the fatal gun which slew his father. Paul had 
had little to do with him and Floyd Bertram 
looked dubiously at Paul Judson, as though he 
half suspected Paul would one day avenge the 
death of his father by slaying the son of the 
murderer. But there had not up to this time 
been the slightest friction between these two 
scions of Perry. Paul was not brought up to 
harbor malice; and Floyd Bertram, while a 
youth of good athletic body, was rather secre- 
tive in his disposition, and apparently quite in- 
offensive. No one knew exactly what he was 
thinking. He had few friends in college. The 
boys said he looked as though he were ‘ ‘ forever 
under the hack. ’ 9 He seemed to carry about with 
him constantly the memory of his father’s mis- 
deeds; though the youth, himself, had never 
been known to injure any one. Surely the say- 
ing that the deeds of fathers are visited upon 
the children to the third and fourth generation 


176 


Paul Judson. 


is no myth, but inexorable truth. Did God not 
also visit the good deeds of the mothers upon 
their children, as one has said, the race would 
long ago have fallen prostrate under its load of 
sin and woe. Floyd had a mother whose char- 
acter was the saving clause in the line of the 
Bertrams. 

Jett Bertram had not only “killed his man,” 
but (if what was commonly said of him, is true), 
he had slain one apiece for six men. But at last 
he had found his match. Another drew first 
this time and Jett died “with his boots on,” 
mourned by few. Among the saddened ones 
were Mrs. Bertram, whose painful efforts to 
save her husband from disgrace had proved 
fruitless, and Floyd, their only child. They had 
had seven other boys, all of them older than 
Floyd; and each of them, except one, had died 
in his own squabble or that of his father. 

Paul was well acquainted with the main 
features of the Perry county war, and with 
some, at least, of the records of blood and 
cowardice that had been shown throughout that 
horrible reign of terror. As he sat in the office 
of President Holden, he said to himself with 
emphasis, “I can never agree to live in the 
same room with the son of my father’s mur- 
derer.” 

He also frankly told the president that he 
could not consent to room with Floyd Bertram. 

Before he had gone ten paces from Mr. 


The Last of the Bertrams. 177 

Holden’s door, however, a voice from within 
whispered to him: “ There, are yon not bear- 
ing malice? Is it not less than a week since you 
declared publicly in your baptism, that the old 
man with his deeds is dead and buried, and the 
new man within is raised to life and power?” 

As he sat alone in his room that evening with 
this all absorbing question upon his mind, Paul 
was fighting a battle of no little moment. The 
time and occasion made the contest strategic. 
He honored his father’s memory with a pas- 
sionate devotion. That father had taught him 
to hate the feud spirit with an intensity equally 
as passionate. He had had schooled in him for 
years a distinct desire to be a representative of 
peace and good will ; and yet, did this mean he 
should be on friendly terms with Floyd 
Bertram? 

“Can I not,” thought he, “have some stu- 
dents agree to an exchange of roommates; the 
one coming with me, the other taking Bertram 
in?” 

This seemed like a happy solution of the em- 
barrassing situation. But no sooner was the 
proposition made in Paul’s mind than it was 
shattered within the precincts where it was 
born. 

“If I try to make such an arrangement, then 
I will he appearing before the students as un- 
forgiving; as denying the spirit of him whom 
on last Sunday I, in symbol, ‘ put on in baptism.’ 


1T8 


Paul Judson. 


Bid he not say to his enemies, ‘Father, forgive 
them, for they know not what they do ? ’ If he 
could pray thus for those who slew him on the 
cross, what should be my feeling toward one 
who was in no way responsible for his father’s 
crimes?” Paul, with that conscientiousness, 
almost super-sensitiveness, which had char- 
acterized him from early childhood, could not 
help feeling that the unexpected incident which 
had arisen was really sent to put his Chris- 
tianity to the test. Would he now be able to 
say with his Master, when tested immediately 
aftqr his baptism, “Get thee behind me, Satan?” 

Struggling still with this soul-query, Paul 
arose and paced for awhile to and fro in his 
room. At last, putting on his hat he decided to 
go out into the fresh air and walk for awhile 
in God’s open, to see if new light might not 
flash from some source upon the problem. 

Presently, to his great delight, Paul saw 
Mr. Gates, the minister, crossing the college 
grounds. Since the good man was known among 
all the students as a sympathetic friend of 
young people, capable of entering thoroughly 
into the spirit of their pastimes as well as their 
problems, Mr. Gates was a confidant of a large 
number of the young men of Marton College. 
He, himself, had been a student of Marton and 
had made a record, not only as an “honor man” 
in his classes, but he had won a reputation 
(that had lasted through the intervening years) 


The Last of the Bertrams. 


179 


as one of the finest all-round athletes Marton 
College had ever had the privilege of training 
for the responsibilities of life. 

It seemed like a happy providence to Paul to 
have Mr. Gates so near when the serious ques- 
tion now agitating his mind was to be settled. 
Hastening across the campus in the direction 
Mr. Gates was moving, Paul was soon in his 
company. 

‘ ‘I thought I heard some one’s voice. My 
dear Paul, come join me. We shall walk to- 
gether, if I am so fortunate as to be going your 
way.” 

Mr. Gates was so approachable that Paul 
soon found a way to tell him of the sudden em- 
barrassment that had come upon him in having 
to decide the question of rooming with Floyd 
Bertram. 

“Well, Paul, there is no moral nor religious 
question involved in whether you shall or shall 
not room with Floyd Bertram— that is, con- 
sidered in itself. But you know that in de- 
ciding what one’s duty as a Christian is, a mat- 
ter is rarely to be determined by what it is con- 
sidered by itself. There are always circum- 
stances, or influences which surround any given 
course of conduct. These may often make a 
thing right or wrong, which in itself considered 
has no moral bearing whatever. You remem- 
ber— if you were present a few Sundays ago at 
one of our services— that I illustrated the same 


180 


Paul Judson. 


principle by referring to certain games, or 
amusements, which can not be regarded as 
either right or wrong in themselves, but may 
become evil, if they lessen our influence over 
others for good, or if the associations are bad, 
or if others are led into sin by them. So, in the 
case before you, if you feel that your refusal 
to room with Floyd Bertram would seem to 
those about you to be due to a spirit of malice 
or revenge, you can scarcely afford to decline 
the president’s request.” 

“I do not wish even to seem to have any 
enmity in my heart toward Floyd Bertram. 
For, heaven knows, I have none, ’ ’ replied Paul. 

“Now, Paul, perhaps this peculiar situation 
in which you have been placed is providential. 
You have been brought up, and still live in a 
community where revenge has been rather re- 
garded as a virtue than a crime ; where forgive- 
ness has been considered cowardice, and re- 
taliation the acme of courage. May this not be 
an opportunity for you to show to the students 
of this college who, before long, will be the 
leaders of public sentiment in these regions, 
that you have conquered all personal malice, 
and can rise above the demands of a misdirected 
and vicious public sentiment?” 

Paul looked at Mr. Gates seriously but said 
nothing. 

“Do you remember a brave young queen of 
olden times,” continued the minister, “who, at 


The Last of the Bertrams. 


181 


a critical moment in her people’s history, took 
even her life into her own hands, and did her 
duty that she might aid in saving her nation! 
And do you not remember the words of her 
uncle when he said encouragingly to her : ‘ Who 
knows but that you have come to the kingdom 
for such a time as this!’ ” 

“Oh, yes, I remember Esther and how she 
saved the Jews,” said Paul. 

“Well,” continued Mr. Gates, “our own peo- 
ple need brave young men and young women 
who will do everything in their power, by their 
quiet, unmistakable influence, to overthrow the 
spirit of personal revenge which has cursed our 
section; blackening the pages of our history 
with progressive misdeeds of blood, rending 
communities by violent paroxysms of outlawry ; 
alienating friendships and multiplying enmities ; 
disrupting and even blotting out families from 
the face of the earth; debauching human char- 
acter and turning the pursuit of happiness into 
a foretaste of hell.” 

Mr. Gates grew eloquent as he proceeded, for 
he had long felt deeply the need of a more 
Christlike civilization. He was a mountain 
man himself, who, by force of character and 
dint of hard blows in an honorable strife, had 
risen to the attainment of success and to in- 
fluence among the people. He himself, during 
his ministerial life, had been specially care- 
ful to act upon the principle laid down by the 


182 


Paul Judson . 


Master. If his enemy smote him upon one 
cheek, he chose to turn the other, rather than 
strike the retaliative blow. He preferred to go 
the second mile rather than lose his temper con- 
cerning the first. Thus, learning so well the 
art of heaping coals of fire on the enemy’s 
head, he had almost ceased to be annoyed with 
hostile purposes of designing men. When the 
enemy hungered, he fed him ; when he thirsted, 
he gave him drink. In this way, the wicked de- 
signs of evil men were melted in the glowing 
furnace of an unconquerable love. 

Paul left the minister, resolved that so far as 
he himself was concerned, he would not de- 
cline to room with Floyd Bertram; but on the 
contrary, would hit the spirit of the feud the 
hardest possible blow. 

The very next day the son of Jett Bertram 
became joint occupant with Paul Judson, of 
room 146. What had gone on in the mind of 
Floyd Bertram pending the request of the 
president, need not here be narrated. The 
youth was inclined to make friends. He was 
tractable, easily influenced for the right when 
removed from evil surroundings. With some 
embarrassment both to himself and to Paul 
Judson, young Bertram brought over his ef- 
fects to his new quarters, became the room- 
mate of the one who had come to be recognized 
as the safest, sanest youth in Wilton, and the 
Clay-Bertram feud was now known to be dead 


183 


The Last of the Bertrams. 

forever. Religion, and the school, had hilled it. 

The first conversion between the two young 
men might be likened to cats walking upon 
snow, so stiff and cautious was it. 

“ Judson, are you going to attend the athletic 
association tomorrow ? ’ ’ This question brought 
the boys upon common ground. 

“Oh, yes, I think I shall, Floyd ; I hear it will 
be a very important meeting for our college.’ ’ 

“What’s up!” asked Bertram. 

“Well, we are compelled to plan ahead a little 
for the next football season,” answered Paul. 

Both boys were very fond of athletic sports 
and each had met with some success. Floyd had 
twice won in a hundred yard dash, and was re- 
garded as champion in pole vaulting. Paul had 
won distinction as center rush on the football 
team the season before. 

For this, his size and muscular maturity gave 
him great advantage. Hard work on the farm 
and his strenuous fight against adversity had 
given him both an iron constitution and an 
iron will. Withal the mountaineer is trained to 
muscular alertness from his youth. Marton 
College, therefore, had no lack of good material 
for the building up of the athletic side of her 
life. The sound mind in a sound body, and both 
controlled by sound morals, was the ideal in 
Marton ’s training. The professors, including 
President Holden, took an active interest in the 
physical side of life at Marton. 


184 


Paul Judson. 


The coming meeting of the athletic associa- 
tion was regarded as one of the most important 
that had ever been held. The question which 
was now agitating the students’ minds as well 
as that of the faculty was whether or not Mar- 
ton College should employ “ringers” in their 
football season which was soon to open. Each 
side of the question had its ardent advocates; 
and it was generaly conceded that the meeting 
would be an exciting one. Both sides had done 
no little private work among the less decided 
members of the association, and most of the 
young men were lined up for the encounter. 

At the appointed time the president of the 
body rapped for order. The hubbub of voices 
ceased. The president, an influential senior, 
stated the object of the meeting: 

“The time is almost come,” said he, “when 
we are to get ourselves in shape for the athletic 
events of the season. Every loyal son of Mar- 
ton College should feel a deep interest in put- 
ting our athletics upon a successful basis. We 
have won our share of intercollegiate honors 
in days gone by in the intellectual field of 
oratory ; and we are here to-day to decide upon 
the policy of our association, especially in the 
matter of the make-up of our team in the field 
of football for the season upon which we are 
about to enter.” 

All thoroughly understood the last reference 
to be the vital question, namely, whether Mar- 


The Last of the Bertrams. 


185 


ton College should put into the field this 
year paid players, professionals, or semi-pro- 
fessionals; or whether she should boldly main- 
tain that none hut a student and loyal son of 
the college should represent her in the athletic 
games. 

This was a question which had been agitating 
the entire college world. Some of the best in- 
stitutions of learning had already banished the 
‘ ‘ ringer, ’ ’ while others regularly imported 
their best players, and, either openly or secretly, 
were winning victories by borrowed, or rather, 
hired help. 

“Mr. President,’ ’ said one of the members, 
as he arose, “I wish to preface my motion with 
a speech. Last year, -you will remember, we 
were defeated on the field— I will not say in- 
gloriously, for it might have been worse— de- 
feated, because we were slow in acting. We 
had some good material, and all that we needed 
was a little strengthening from the outside. 
This we can procure if we only act promptly. 
I, therefore, move that a committee he ap- 
pointed to confer with the faculty and with the 
available material, that we may add to our stu- 
dent body and to the team two guards and a 
full back.” 

“I second the motion,” came from several 
voices. 

“The question is open for discussion,” an- 
nounced the president. 


186 


Paul Judson, 


Another senior arose to debate the question. 

“Marton College,” said he, “ ought not to be 
behind the very best schools in all that makes 
for true greatness / 9 This wholesome but 
rather indefinite and sophomoric utterance was 
greeted with a round of hearty applause. * ‘ To 
me/’ he continued, “it is not so much a ques- 
tion whether we win or not, but whether we 
win honorably. ” This sentiment was also met 
with manifest approval on the part of many. 
“College athletics should be free, voluntary, 
manly and honorable sport. As soon as it be- 
comes a matter of trade and barter, it at once 
falls from its place of respect and becomes pro- 
fessionalism of the meanest type. To put into 
the field any other than bona fide students of 
Marton College is to practice deception, and 
bring the fair name of our alma mater into con- 
tempt. 9 9 

This little speech, which showed some signs 
of having been prepared beforehand, was 
spoken with earnestness of conviction and evi- 
dently carried weight with it. 

At this juncture Paul Judson arose to make a 
remark. “Mr. President,” said he, “The gen- 
tleman who has just taken his seat has ex- 
pressed my opinion. It is better for us to lose 
again this season, and put ourselves in line 
with the best college reforms than to win every 
game and hold on to a custom which has done 
more than anything else to make college athlet- 


The Last of the Bertrams . 


187 


ics offensive to high-minded men. Let us have 
clean athletics or none at all.” 

“Good for Judson!” shouted several voices. 

A member of the faculty now stood up and 
addressed the chair. He was a venerable gen- 
tleman, and the senior member of the faculty. 
With his long white beard and good gray head, 
he stood for a moment facing the students, and 
clearing his throat loudly and with much de- 
liberation, began: “Young gentlemen, there is 
one phase of this question about which per- 
haps you have not thought. I judge from what 
has been said here today that your object in 
these athletic contests is to win, to secure a 
victory over your opponents. Whereas, the true 
idea, as in all concerns of life, is to attain to the 
highest excellence in every good thing. Just 
so soon as your chief aim is to outstrip another 
in the race, your purpose becomes a selfish one. 
You have then left the high Christian plane, 
which is striving to reach a goal of excellence, 
and have allowed your athletics to degenerate 
into a mere scramble for selfish and doubtful 
honors. This question of 1 ringers’ could never 
arise if the supreme purpose which controls 
you is to cultivate for yourselves the very 
best bodies which you are capable of develop- 
ing. So long as your only concern is to defeat 
the team of a rival college, just so long will 
you be troubled with such questions as those 
which agitate you to-day. You will call me an 


188 


Paul Judson. 


‘old fogy,’ and say I am ‘behind the times,’ hut 
I hope that when you have lived as long as I, 
you will reach the conclusion that I have 
reached.” 

The old man sat down. No one seemed pre- 
pared either to agree with or to dissent from 
the view he had advanced. 

President Holden next took the floor. While 
the faculty had always given the conduct of 
athletics mainly into the hands of the students, 
the right to veto any action or policy inaugu- 
rated hy them was regarded as a matter of 
course. 

“Young gentlemen, I hold in my hand,” said 
the president, “letters from a half dozen foot- 
ball players of renown— or at least, they think 
they are entitled to be so classed— making pro- 
posals to enter Marton College provided their 
tuition is remitted, their board guaranteed and 
a bonus of from fifty to one hundred and fifty 
dollars paid them for the honor of playing for 
this institution during the coming football 
season. I have written to each of them saying 
that Marton College proposes from this time 
forward— no matter what course other institu- 
tions with whom we are to compete shall de- 
cide to pursue— to stand or fall upon her own 
merits ; that Marton College will henceforth set 
her face like flint for purity of college athletics 
and against every form of deception and fraud. 
And furthermore,” added Mr. Holden, as he 


The Last of the Bertrams. 


189 


straightened himself to his full height and ut- 
tered with emphasis, “I am confident that Mar- 
ton’s banner will not trail in the dust.” 

As President Holden sat down there was 
thunderous applause. It was evident that the 
student body was mainly on the side of clean 
athletics and against that form of commer- 
cialism which gives an advantage to the college 
of least conscience and longest purse. 

The vote was overwhelmingly in favor of put- 
ting forth a team composed of regular stu- 
dents of Marton without any dicker, or bargain 
with outsiders, or deception practiced upon 
their opponents. 

All hands now went earnestly to work to de- 
velop the best team the college had ever put 
into the field. The men who were finally 
selected had their training table. They had 
learned, with a great apostle who had observed 
the Greek games in his native city of Tarsus 
that one who strives for the mastery must be 
temperate in all things. Having a few weeks 
before, in a meeting assembled resolved to 
evince the spirit of that same apostle when he 
wrote: “And if a man also strive for the 
nfastery, yet is he not crowned, except he strive 
lawfully,’ ’ so now the men who were to uphold 
Marton ’s honor on the field of physical train- 
ing, regulated their diet, curbed their appetites, 
eschewed all stimulants, threw away their 
cigarettes, exercised regularly, slept soundly; 


190 


Paul Judson * 


in short, obeyed strictly the laws of their phy- 
sical being, that their bodies might be at their 
very best when the day of testing came. 

Among those selected to play for Marton Col- 
lege were both Paul Judson and his roommate, 
Floyd Bertram. Paul was in his old place at 
“ center/ ’ and Floyd, partly because of his re- 
markable swiftness, was chosen as i ‘ half-back .' 9 




' The time finally came round when 
Marton College was to try its mettle 
with the State University. Much cor- 
respondence had passed between the 
committee representing the two col- 

T leges, because, as was well known, the 
latter institution had shown little con- 
science in the matter of hiring players. 
The managers flatly declined to leave off the ob- 
jectionable men. Had the other institutions at 
once taken the high ground occupied by the 
athletic association of Marton College, their 
rival might have been left in dishonorable isola- 
tion. But much pioneer work on behalf of 
clean athletics was necessary and Marton was 
in the forefront. 

191 


192 


Paul Judson. 


“ Let’s play them, anyhow, and beat them, 
too,” was the dominating spirit among the stu- 
dents at Marton. The game was to be played 
on the home grounds. People from the whole 
region around Wilton as well as the close 
friends of both colleges were interested in the 
outcome of the game. It had been widely ad- 
vertised. The question of playing “ringers,” 
the attitude of both institutions toward the mat- 
ter and the negotiations between them had been 
for several weeks before the public through the 
newspapers. The public generally sympathized 
with Marton College in its bold stand for clean 
playing, while the State school had its en- 
thusiastic partisans. 

The day for the game was a perfect one. 
Every train brought spectators to the contest, 
which was not only a trial of brawn and skill, 
but of moral fiber as well. Neighboring schools 
were watching with intense interest the outcome 
of the game which involved a question of policy 
for the future. The girls of Marton College 
were early in their places upon the grand stand 
with Marton colors waving on their waists, 
their hats and the handles of their parasols. 
Shout after shout rent the air. The college 
yells of the two contestants alternately rang 
through the welkin. It was a gala day in Wil- 
ton, and all were in the best of humor. There 
was manifest an under-current of deepest ex- 
citement, but all had resolved to keep their 


Did It Pay? 193 

temper and play the gentleman, whatever else 
they might or might not play that day. 

The visitors had the “kick off” and sent the 
ball magnificently toward Marton ’s goal. It 
was caught by the full-back and through bril- 
liant interference, it was brought forward al- 
most to the center of the field. For twenty 
minutes the two sides pounded one another, 
crash upon crash, like two mighty, living cata- 
pults. The time was called, which ended the 
first half. Neither side had scored, and neither 
had apparently weakened under the terrific 
strain, though the ball had for the most part 
been in Marton’s territory. The crowd began 
to feel that if either side scored in the next half, 
it would be the State boys. 

The players went upon the field again amidst 
deafening cheers from the bleachers. Marton 
put the ball well into play, but by a drop-kick, 
executed with marvelous qhickness, the pig- 
skin was soon back again in Marton’s territory. 
For about fifteen minutes it seemed simply a 
game of endurance. It was crash upon crash, 
down after down, here a little, there a little. 
But the gain was more and more upon the side 
of State. Marton boys became desperate, and 
their opponents themselves recognized that if 
they should score at all it must be now . Every 
nerve and muscle of both teams was at its 
highest tension. Among the spectators the 
wildest excitement prevailed. Something must 


194 


Paul Judson. 


happen and that very quickly. It was Marton’s 
hall. Paul Judson, as center, snapped the ball 
to the quarter-back, and then, by a well-planned 
series of maneuvers, the opponent was out- 
witted, and the first thing the State boys knew, 
the fleet half-back of Marton, Floyd Bertram, 
with the ball under his strong arm, had gotten a 
good start toward the goal. By the aid of 
masterful interference, Floyd plunged ahead, 
and as swiftly as a deer, was making in the 
direction of the goal, almost before the op- 
ponent had waked up to what had really taken 
place. On he flew, the swiftest runner in all 
that country. The line of interference was now 
broken up and State’s fleetest of foot and sur- 
est in tackle was in full tilt after him. Both 
teams were rushing on in mad pursuit. The 
crowd went wild, hats were thrown up, canes 
and flags waved frantically in the air; throats 
cracked with the shrieking, the most dignified 
lost their heads, and the assembly of spectators 
was in an instant converted into pandemonium 
of fiercest excitement. 

Floyd was now within a few yards of the op- 
ponents’ goal. With a marvelous play of 
dexterity, his chief pursuer, State’s left tackle, 
threw himself with an iron grasp about Floyd’s 
body, tackling him between his hips and knee3, 
throwing him violently to the ground. It was 
evident that both men were hurt. In an instant 
the teams were piled up like a mountain of 


Did It Pay ? 


105 


bone and mnscle. No one could stop himself. 
Floyd, as soon as he fell, was seen to reach the 
ball out over his head and touch it to the ground. 
It was just three inches over the line. 

4 4 A touch down ! ! ” was the cry that was heard 
above the din , 4 4 a touch down. ’ ’ The crowd now 
went wilder than before. For a moment no one 
knew whether he was standing upon his head 
or upon his feet. The mountain of living tissue 
was soon removed from the quivering body of 
the young man who had made such a glorious 
run. But he did not move a limb. Excitement 
was turned into anxiety and anxiety into alarm. 
A physician moved hastily toward the prostrate 
youth. The man of medicine felt his pulse and 
examined his body, and then, looking up, shook 
his head. Marton and pure athletics had won 
the day, but Marton ’s best half-back had lost 
his life! 

When Floyd Bertram’s lifeless body lay cold 
in the college chapel, and the students gathered 
to pay their last debt of respect, it was a sad 
hour for Marton. The joy of yesterday’s 
triumph was eclipsed in gloom. What was 
4 4 four to nothing against State” when it was 
known that the victory was purchased at the 
cost of a life? 

The simple service led by Mr. Gates, the min- 
ister, just before the train which was to carry 
the body of a comrade into the presence of a 
distracted mother— impressed the students pro- 


196 


Paul Judson. 


foundly. They could not but feel that in some 
sense Floyd Bertram had sacrificed his life for 
a victory that belonged to all. 

Mr. Gates began by reading some passages of 
Scripture from the writings of the apostle Paul. 

4 ‘Know ye not that they which run in a race, 
run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run 
that ye may obtain. And every man that 
striveth for the mastery is temperate in all 
things. Now, they do it to obtain a corruptible 
crown; but we an incorruptible. I, therefore, 
so run, not as uncertainly ; so fight I not as one 
that beateth the air ; but I keep under my body/ 
and bring it into subjection, lest by any means, 
when I have preached to others, I myself should 
be a castaway. I count not myself to have laid 
hold of the goal, but this one thing I do, for- 
getting those things which are behind, and 
reaching forth unto those things which are be- 
fore, I press toward the mark for the prize of 
the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. For 
bodily exercise profiteth a little but godliness 
is profitable unto all things, having the promise 
of the life that now is and that which is to 
come.” 

“You have all read,” the speaker began, in 
solemn and measured tones, “of the old monk 





Did It Pay ? 


197 


Telemachus, in the days of Commodus, the 
Roman emperor. It was the day of the gladia- 
tor, the arena, and of mortal combats. The 
flower of Roman society gathered to witness the 
terrific struggle upon the sand— making for 
Rome a holiday. Above, upon the rows of 
marble, sat the emperor and the royal train. 
Aristocratic men and maidens in gala attire, 
awaited the trial of physical prowess in which 
one or both of the combatants will pay for the 
costly sport with his own life. The gladiators, 
entering the arena, look up to the imperial seat 
and say in compulsory reverence : ‘ On our way 
to death, we salute thee, Caesar V All around 
sit the populace eagerly waiting for the first 
blood, with their thumbs ready to show ‘pity’ 
or ‘no pity’ as these are raised or lowered. It 
was at such a juncture that a pious Christian 
monk, incensed in his righteous soul at the 
cruelty of the sport, threw himself boldly into 
the arena to separate the bleeding combatants 
before one or the other should fall. It was then 
the maddened populace rushed frantically upon 
him, for he had spoiled their holiday. They tore 
him limb from limb. But the sacrifice of 
Telemachus was the death stroke of the gladia? 
torial show in Rome. It is expedient for one 
to die that all the people perish not. The em- 
peror sent forth his edict and the bloody con- 
flict of the arena was no more.” 

The application of this story of old Roman 


198 


Paul Judion. 


life was so evident that it was scarcely neces- 
sary for the minister to say more. There was 
a feeling of interrogation already voiced many 
times by the students as well as others in the 
community of Wilton. This is what they were 
asking: Are such violent tests of physical en- 
durance, after all, worth the sacrifices of life 
and limb that are annually made at its shrine? 
Mr. Gates continued. He spoke kindly of the 
pluck, the manly courage, the endurance, the 
self-control which the deceased youth, and in- 
deed, every skilled player, must acquire if he 
would excel in the game. But he drew a clear 
distinction between the sacrifices of human life 
that are necessary and so, are commendable, 
and those that are to be deplored, as bordering 
upon folly. 

There was no lack of sympathy with the well 
rounded development of the body; for Mr. 
Gates, when a student at Marton twenty years 
before, had taken high rank as an athlete, and 
his exceptional popularity and influence with 
the students was no little due to the reputation 
he had left behind him of his student days; a 
reputation for manly strength and courage. He 
was known as the best “ all-round athlete’ ’ that 
had ever matriculated in Marton College. His 
advice was still constantly sought upon all such 
matters, and his influence for a wholesome 
athletic spirit at Wilton had been of incom- 
parable value. It was through Mr. Gates more 


Did It Pay f 


199 


than any other agency that the students of Mar- 
ton came to understand that piety is not another 
name for indigestion, nor religion synonymous 
with effeminacy or physical decreptitude. 

If the death of Floyd Bertram should suc- 
ceed in lifting athletics from some of its un- 
necessary dangers to human life, as indeed the 
victory he scored for Marton College had for- 
ever made it impossible for the presence of the 
“ ringer’ ’ to he again tolerated in the entire 
league of colleges, his death may not have been 
in vain. 

Among the many whose eyes glistened with 
the sympathetic tear on this day of sadness, 
there was none who felt more deeply than did 
Paul Judson. The old feud that once waged 
in Perry had never been alive in Paul’s heart. 
Feuds are always born and bred, not in the 
mountains, hut in the heart. The Clay-Bertram 
feud was a dead feud. It is not infrequent that 
the place where a victim of one of those lawless 
encounters fell, mortally wounded by his enemy, 
is marked by a wooden stake, driven into the 
ground that it may become a reminder to all 
who pass that way that the deadly fire had been 
effective. Here there was no wooden emblem 
to mark the wound made on the bosom of 



200 


Paul Judson. 


mother earth, but deep in Paul Judson ’s heart 
there was a scar, made by Floyd Bertram’s 
death, which would last forever. 

Paul had really grown fond of Floyd, and 
Floyd had greatly developed under the warm 
rays of a heart like Paul’s, who harbored no 
personal malice toward the son for the father’s 
misdoings. Floyd previously had, in truth, 
locked up his best self under the constant con- 
sciousness of the misdeeds of an unworthy 
father. It required only the call of a generous 
disposition like that of Paul Judson ’s to invite 
Floyd Bertram’s deeper, better nature to as- 
sert itself. Under the influence of his new as- 
sociation, the best in the backward youth, cover- 
ed over by adversity and neglect, was beginning 
to blossom forth with beauty; demonstrating 
the truth of the wise saying that it is only 
necessary for one to be noble, 

“and the nobleness that lies 
In others, sleeping but not dead, 

Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.” 

The next time the athletic association of Mar- 
ton College met, the occasion was an interesting 
one, indeed. It was evident that the recent mis- 
fortune on the athletic field, when one of their 
best players forfeited his life, had had a revo- 
lutionary influence upon the minds of almost 
every man in the school. As soon as the meet- 
ing was called to order, and the way was opened 
for remarks, President Holden arose and con- 


Did It Pay f 


201 


gratulated the students upon the high plane 
upon which the recent contest had been con- 
ducted. i ‘ There was no unseemly conduct on 
the part of Marton’s men throughout the en- 
tire game,” said Mr. Holden. “Your rivals 
upon the field were treated with exceptional 
courtesy. For this I specially commend you 
since the circumstances under which you were 
compelled to control, in playing with men who 
should never have appeared in a collegiate 
game, were altogether exasperating. But this at 
least was decided by that contest, that it is possi- 
ble for decency to win ; that the claim heard so 
frequently that we must do wrong or else go 
down in defeat is a specious plea. Henceforth, 
in this region at least, the pendulum that has 
swung toward reputable athletics can never 
swing back. 

“And yet,” continued the president, “an- 
other fact must be equally clear to every think- 
ing man, that the game which the college world 
is playing must be reformed or lose the respect 
of wise men. Life is the most precious of all 
human assets ; and when a life is sacrificed, we 
should be sure it is in a worthy cause. Acci- 
dents are liable to happen to any of us, even 
when engaged in the most harmless and com- 
mendable pursuits, hut the man who endangers 
his life in any occupation or exercise should be 
sure that the end sought justifies the risk. Any 
other attitude is tempting Providence and play- 


202 


Paul Judson. 


mg a game of chance with the Almighty. After 
due deliberation, therefore, by those in authori- 
ty at Marton College, I wish to announce pub- 
licly to this assembly of students, that this col- 
lege will engage in no more inter-collegiate con- 
tests of this kind till the rules of the game shall 
have been so amended as that extraordinary 
dangers to life and limb are eliminated. ’ 9 

The speech of the president met with ap- 
plause— though it came as a damper upon the 
athletic ambitions of many present. The vic- 
tory just won had put Marton at the forefront 
in the college league. And yet, it was at this 
very time when she could best afford to take 
advanced ground, and lead other schools in the 
direction of reform. 

Paul Judson and Steve Calder were seated 
by a small grate tire in PauPs room, talking 
over the announcement of the morning which 
bade fair so completely to revolutionize sport at 
Marton. 

“Pm not much of a player,” said Steve, 
“and, perhaps, it makes very little difference 
as to my reputation. I never expect to be 
selected as quarter-back on the ‘all-star team.’ 
But, you Paul, in one more season, might cer- 
tainly have been numbered among the best ‘ cen- 
ters J on the gridiron. Next year, my boy, you 
would have taken first place at center among all 
the colleges. You would have no trouble getting 
free tuition and a salary besides, at one of the 


Did It Pay f 


203 


great universities, just to play center-rush. ’ ’ 

“That ruling of President Holden is all 
right, ’ ’ replied Paul. * ‘ I had already decided in 
my own mind, that if football meant the killing 
of our men, we’d better quit it. You, yourself, 
went on a crutch, Steve, for three weeks, with 
a sprained hip. And, there’s Hawkins; he 
broke two ribs, and Thompson, a collar bone. 
All that, this season. And there’s poor 
Bertram— ’ ’ 

Both boys were for a moment silent. 

‘ 4 It’s a manly sport, though, Paul,” added 
Steve. 

“Oh, yes, football has a great many fine 
points. It has been an advantage to me. It has 
helped me think quickly and act quickly. Be- 
sides it has taught me to act readily with 
others in carrying out a common plan. And 
yet there are many other things that will do the 
same.” 

“It gives a man grit,” said Steve. “Look 
how it made a new man of Floyd Bertram. Be- 
fore he began to play football, one look at him 
would almost put him to flight, but he came to 
be one of the pluckiest players we ever had. A 
fellow needs something to 4 buck against if he 
wants to bring out the best that’s in him.” 

“That’s all true enough, Steve. But your 
illustration is not a very good one. Of what 
value to the world is Floyd Bertram’s pluck, 
now that he sleeps in his silent grave? The 


204 


Paul Judson. 


thing is too dangerous. A fellow should try to 
live a manly life always and die a manly death, 
when it becomes necessary.’ ’ 

“I know,” continued Steve, * 1 that football 
has kept me out of lots of mischief. If it hadn’t 
been for athletics, I think I would have been 
expelled from the college long ago.” 

4 ‘You may be right in that, Steve; you needed 
something to keep you out of mischief, doubt- 
less. But don’t you think it would he more 
manly of you to keep yourself outV ’ 

“Yes, hut the game has helped me to learn 
self-control. Once, when I came to the table, 
I didn’t have strength enough to resist eating 
unwholesome things, if they pleased my taste. 
Now, I can turn any dish down if it makes 
against endurance. And you know my cigarettes 
went when I decided to contest for a place on the 
team. I used to stay out nights and lose my 
sleep and waste my strength. Football train- 
ing helped me break my bad habits. And I’m 
not the only one.” 

“All you say, Steve, is true, I admit; and if 
football were the only way to strengthen our 
bodies and cultivate our morals, I’d take it with 
all its dangers, and call it cheap. But there are 
other ways less dangerous, and I choose those 
henceforth; at least until the game is put upon 
a better basis. No game intended to help a 
man’s body ought to be so dangerous to the 
body it is intended to help. I used to think just 


Did It Pay? 


205 


as you do, but I’m changing my mind. It looks 
to me like an absurdity, Steve, the more I think 
of it, for a man to take such risks.” 

“Well,” he added, “tomorrow is Thanksgiv- 
ing day. Let’s be glad that we have so many 
good things to live for, Steve— and let’s be 
grateful.” 




XVII. 

MISTER GATES AND DOCTOR GASTON. 

One evening as Mr. Gates, the minister, sat in 
Paul’s room, to which he had come on one of his 
little pastoral calls, he fell to talking of his own 
early life. 

How true it is that men are shaped by other 
men! Old Ulysses was not alone in being a 
part of all he had ever met. Is not all that 
surrounds a man’s life on this planet hut a part 
of a gigantic mold in which his life is being for- 
ever shaped? This huge matrix, in its entirety 
invisible, is made up both of persons and of 
things that can he seen and touched, plus in- 
numerable subtle influences, human and divine, 
that cannot be seen, but are powerfully felt in 
the making of human life and the molding of 
human character. 

Mr. Gates had now become one of the most 
influential factors in Paul’s life. The early his- 
206 


Mr. Gates <md Dr. Gaston. 207 

tory of the preacher’s life brought him into 
closer sympathy with Paul ’s own struggles. 

“My first schooling,” remarked Mr. Gates, 
with a smile, “was an extended curriculum in 
wielding the axe, holding the plow handles and 
caring for cattle. ” 

“That sounds something like my own,” re- 
marked Paul. 

‘ ‘ The neighborhood in which my father lived 
was not known for its wealth or for educational 
facilities. And yet I am glad to say it was 
very free from those sinks of vice and tempta- 
tion which are found in many more populous 
places. The schools, in my day, were ‘old field 
schools,’ for they were, in fact, always located 
near an old field. Our school house, as were 
most of the houses around us, was a rude un- 
hewn log hut, with a split-board roof and a log 
chimney, seven or eight feet broad at one end 
of a single room. Here we warmed ourselves 
by log fires.” 

In an instant Paul was carried back to 
Hawk’s Nest, and the neighborhood school, 
where he once was whipped for carving his 
name on the back of the rude pine desk. 

“At the other end of the room,” continued 
the minister, “was a wide crack, formed by cut- 
ting away parts of two logs to let in the light 
upon the ‘writing bench,’ and a door on the 
side. The furniture of the school consisted of 
a chair, a lock-up desk, a ferule and a long 


208 


Paul Judson. 


hickory switch for the teacher and long benches 
without backs for the scholars. 

“No, excuse me,” remarked Mr. Gates, by 
way of apology, “the switch was for the 
scholars and the long bench without hacks was 
for the cure of indolence, I presume. The 
teacher used his parts of the school furnishings, 
especially the hickory, quite as constantly as we 
children misused the old wooden benches. Four 
months were regarded as a fairly long session 
for our old field school. A full course consisted 
in spelling from Noah Webster’s spelling book, 
Walker’s dictionary, reading, writing after a 
copy set by the teacher and Pike ’s arithmetic to 
the double rule of three.” 

“That, too, reminds me of my schooling back 
home, Mr. Gates.” 

“There is a bond of sympathy between us, 
then,” responded the preacher, “and oh, how 
well do I remember old Father Purefoy, as 
they all called him— the man who put his hand 
upon my head one day and said, 'May the Lord 
make a preacher of you, my boy! The kindly 
word and fatherly blessing made an impression 
upon me which I never lost.” 

“And you were not then a Christian?” in- 
quired Paul. 

“No, I had not then thought seriously about 
such matters. Another time when Father 
Purefoy was visiting our home, which was al- 
ways thrown wide open for the 'traveling 


Mr. Gates and Dr. Gaston. 209 

sarvents of the Lord,’ as my old father called 
them— he asked me if I ever prayed. I told 
him I really didn’t believe I knew how to pray. 
I was holding the bridle of his horse for him 
to mount, when he looked kindly at me and said : 
‘ Let me give you the best prayer with which to 
begin, my lad, if you have never prayed. It 
is this, “God he merciful to me a sinner.” ’ It 
was a new idea to me, for I had never looked 
upon myself as a sinner before. 

“Father Purefoy was very different from old 
‘Uncle Tommie Armstrong’ who preached like 
a roaring lion. His exhortations to sinners to 
repent before it was ‘eternally too late’ came 
red-hot from his honest, earnest heart ; and his 
sermons, unlike the three Hebrew children fresh 
from Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace always had the 
smell of fire upon them. But as Uncle Tommie 
had never said anything to me privately about 
my being a sinner, I thought his sermons were 
intended for the grown-up people, and that they 
were the sinners to whom he referred. 

“ ‘Go out into the woods,’ said Father 
Purefoy. ‘Go away out where no one hut God 
can hear you. God is in the woods, for God 
is everywhere. ’ That was in the times, ’ ’ added 
the preacher, “when it was thought that even a 
young child was compelled to wrestle long and 
heroically before he could be converted. But 
old Father Purefoy was quite right in wishing 
to have the distractions of the world shut out. 


210 


Paul Judson. 


He believed in the advice given long ago by 
George Herbert, that quaint old writer of the 
days of Cromwell, 

“ ‘By all means use sometimes to be alone 
Salute thyself ; see what thy soul doth wear ; 

Look into thy chest — it is thine own, 

And tumble up and down what thou findest there.’ 

‘ ‘ One day I was out in the forest looking for 
a lost sheep of my father’s; when I myself a 
lost sheep, was found by the Good Shepherd. 
Seeing a great oak before me, I thought of 
Father Purefoy’s advice. I chose to erect a 
worshiping place at its foot. Like Abraham 
at the oaks of Mamre, I erected an altar to the 
Most High. ‘God be merciful to me a sinner,’ 
was the prayer I sent up to heaven, and there 
my heart found peace and forgiveness.” 

“What did you do next, Mr. Gates?” 

“Oh, I wished to let everybody know what 
had happened. My mother had had me chris- 
tened in infancy ; but I just felt I must obey the 
command for myself. Though I was only four- 
teen years of age, I had read the New Testa- 
ment through several times— on long winter 
evenings by the pine-knot fire— and I had never 
come upon a case where an infant was baptized. 
Some told me it was there by implication; but 



Mr. Gates and Dr. Gaston. 211 

I never found a case in fact. I found ‘ Believe 
and be baptized;* ‘ Repent and be baptized;* I 
read that parents might lead their children to 
the Master, and should ‘bring them up in the 
nurture and admonition of the Lord,* but no- 
where were they commanded to have them bap- 
tized. So, I craved the privilege of obeying the 
command for myself, from which privilege not 
even my pious mother had the right to deprive 
me.” 

“Tell me how you became a preacher,* * in- 
quired Paul, becoming more and more inter* 
ested in a life story which had in it so many 
features similar to his own. 

“How I became a preacher? Why, bless you, 
I scarcely know myself how I became a preach- 
er, except that old Father Purefoy again drop- 
ped a word into my mind which stuck there. * * 

“What was that, Mr. Gates?** asked Paul, as 
his interest became the more intense. 

“It was this: ‘Lord, what wilt thou have me 
to do?* He said that Christianity is not— to 
use his blunt phrase— ‘dip and be done,* but a 
life of service; and that every follower of the 
Master must at once seek to know what God 
would make of him. So as soon as I was bap- 
tized, in New Hope Creek, that question, ‘Lord, 
what wilt thou have me to do ? ’ rang in my ears. 
Indeen, I could scarcely decide in my own heart 
which was the more important question, ‘God 
be merciful to me a sinner,* or ‘Lord, what wilt 


212 


Paul Judson. 


thou have me to ’doT Now that the first was 
settled, the second held undisputed right of way 
in my soul. 

“With the burning question still undecided, 
I determined at least to get ready for the very 
best life I could live, by preparing myself for 
whatever might come to me. Men must pass 
through the better to the best. The fact is, I 
wanted an education, as one step toward de- 
ciding the vital question. And so, like the 
prodigal, I asked my father for the portion of 
goods that fell to me. But, unlike the boy in 
the parable, I did not ask for this that I might 
squander it. My object was to invest it per- 
manently in my mind and heart. The prodigal ’s 
father seemed to have been a rich man. Mine 
was poor; and so he demurred a little, for he 
could not give all the children an education, and 
being a just man, he thought he ought not to 
make any unfair distinctions among them. I 
told him that as soon as I became a free man I 
would go to school if I had to make brick by 
moonlight to pay my way. He saw my de- 
termination, and gave me permission to leave 
home at nineteen, the age my oldest brother 
married, and to fight my way to an education. 

“By selling my horse, saddle and bridle,” 
continued Mr. Gates, “I was at last on my 
way to college. I was not prepared to enter the 
institution ; but with great kindness on the part 
of the president, was given a trial in the pre- 


Mr. Gates and Dr. Gaston. 213 

paratory department, with the remark, intend- 
ed to console me at the humiliating contrast 
between myself and the smaller boys around 
me : i Never mind ; it is a horse and a pony race, 
a horse will outrun a pony in a long race. ’ 9 9 

All this interested Paul intensely. He had 
never heard the story of Mr. Gates 9 life before, 
and he seemed almost to be hearing a reitera- 
tion of his own. 

“Many a time I would have given up the 
fight,” added Mr. Gates, “but, somehow, I began 
to discover that just when one is ready to give 
up, that is the very time the tide begins to turn. 
The old saying, you know, the darkest hour is 
just before the dawn. 

“The influence of old Father Purefoy con- 
tinued to follow me. I thought of his advice to 
find a secret place of prayer. Finally I dis- 
covered in the midst of that majestic forest on 
the side of the neighboring mountain an im- 
mense hollow oak tree, standing in a ravine. I 
could easily go to it now as to a Mecca. There 
I erected my altar. I cleaned out the hollow 
and made a plank floor to protect me from the 
dampness. It was there I went every day be- 
fore the dawn, for there was scarcely time after- 
wards. The neighborhood of this hollow tree 
in the ravine before daylight was darker than 
the blackness of Egypt. But I was afraid of 
neither snakes nor devils, for I knew God was 
there. It was there the leading question of my 


214 


Paul Judson. 


life was again and again laid before the 
Almighty, ‘ Lord, what wilt thou have me to do 1 ’ 

“The answer at length came, and here I am 
an humble minister of the Word, trying to 
translate into fact the reply which God gave me 
in word when he spoke to my heart with un- 
mistakable voice, ‘Go ye, preach my gospel to 
perishing men. ’ ’ ’ 

“I sometimes think,’ ’ said Paul, who here 
broke his long silence, “that I should like my- 
self to be a preacher. ’ ’ 

“That is no nobler calling. But, my dear 
Paul, I have at times thought that laymen who 
are living witnesses are the chief need of 
Christ’s church to-day. I have only this to 
say, let your heart be sensitive to the Infinite 
wisdom and love, and you can not go wrong in 
any choice you may make.” 

At the minister’s suggestion, the two fell upon 
their knees for a moment, and in another in- 
stant Mr. Gates was gone, leaving Paul in the 
twilight alone— with God. 

The story of Mr. Gates’ early life, his strug- 
gle for an education, his conversion, and his 
choice of the ministry as his life’s work came 
as a blessed inspiration to Paul. There was so 
much in the story akin to his own life’s strug- 
gles. Paul took a fresh hold upon his daily 
tasks under the influence of Mr. Gates’ char- 
acter, and his noble achievements from small 
beginnings. 


Mr. Gates and Dr. Gaston. 215 

It was only a few days after this, that Paul 
said to Steve Calder, who, after Floyd’s death, 
had become his roommate: “ Steve, I am feel- 
ing very badly this morning. I have suffered 
all night. I think I shall remain abed. My head 
is just splitting with pain. As you go down to 
get the mail, I wish you would stop at the office 
of Doctor Gaston and ask him to drive this way 
and see me. I ’m afraid I ’in going to he sick. ’ ’ 
“All right, Paul. I have thought you were 
looking badly for several days. ’ 9 

The little post office on the main street of the 
village was a most important feature of Wil- 
ton’s life. Thither came citizens of all sorts to 
get in touch with the outside world. The coun- 
try newspaper and sometimes the great dailies, 
found their way into the homes of their eager 
readers through this indispensable clearing- 
house of world-doings. Here is found 

“Food, too, for the sympathies and mind; 

For in one corner, fed by many lands, 

The small post office dignifiedly stands, 

With square, red-numbered boxes in its arms, 

Well stocked with white and brown enveloped charms. 
Here the little girl, irresolutely gay, 

Asks if there’s ‘anything for us today?’ 

Here the farmer lad who wider fields would seek 
Comes for the county paper once a week. 

Through this delivery porthole there is hurled 
Printed bombardment from the outside world; 

The great, far world whose heart throbs up and down, 
Strikes pulses e’en within this quiet town.” 

Steve, in common with many another anxious 


216 


Paul Judson. 


student, had here secured his expected “ letter 
from home,” and soon he had delivered Paul’s 
message at the office of Doctor Gaston. 

The doctor was what is commonly known as a 
self-made man. But unlike some who bear this 
brand of making, Doctor Gaston was not so 
proud of the manufacture as that he failed to 
appreciate the claims of others upon him. So 
ready was he to help the people who were strug- 
gling along behind him, that a pigeon-hole in his 
desk was almost full of lapsed notes which were 
either in his favor or had been made bankable 
by his generous endorsement. He was, by gen- 
eral consent, Wilton’s first citizen. He stood for 
political honor and social cleanness. His repu- 
tation for uprightness and his reliability of 
character made him trusted and admired of all. 

By perseverance and integrity Doctor Gaston 
had risen from poverty to wealth; fighting his 
way steadily from an obscure mountain home to 
education and influence. Because of sagacious 
business management he had become one of the 
richest investors in the lumber and coal lands 
about Wilton. And yet, in all his successes, he 
had not, as many, grown narrow and selfish, but 
was one of the most modest and generous of 
men. Marton College owed him an incalculable 
debt; for it was he more than any other, who 
had saved it again and again from perishing in 
the days of its poverty, and made it to be no 
longer a feeble academy, but a strong college. 


Mr. Gates (md Dr. Gaston. 


217 


Mrs. Gaston, who quietly enjoyed the sacrifices 
they endured because of Marton College, before 
the tide of their wealth came in, whispered one 
day to her pastor, “For several years the upper 
rooms of our new home remained unfinished 
and we had no hall lamp, because the doctor was 
paying interest in hank on several large gifts 
to the college.” 

Doctor Gaston had put his money into the 
college, for he held the theory that the most 
valuable investment— and the most lasting— is 
not that which one can make in lands or in bank 
stock, but in brains and in character. “Invest 
in youth,” said he, “if you wish your money to 
bring returns that will count. Investments in 
immortal souls declare eternal dividends . ’ 9 

The business interests of Doctor Gaston had 
at length precluded a very general practice of 
his profession, but he was always at the service 
of those who really needed him. He loved the 
boys of Marton College and they loved him. He 
called them his boys. He looked after their 
bodies as did Mr. Gates after their souls. And 
who can say that Doctor Gaston had an unim- 
portant duty? For how crippled must that 
spirit be which is forced to reside in a weak and 



218 


Paul Judson. 


rickety tenement of clay, through whose cracks 
every biting wind enters, and which every storm 
shakes upon its physical foundation ! The doc- 
tor, a profound student of science, believed the 
more profoundly in the duty of acquiring a 
healthy body, in order that a sound and effect- 
ive instrument might be at the command of a 
vigorous, consecrated soul. 

‘ 4 1 fear you are in for a long spell of sickness, 
my dear young man,” said the doctor to Paul, 
as he examined the sick youth’s tongue and took 
his temperature. 

It was so. Fever held Paul for three weeks in 
its heated grasp. The young man had been 
living a little too strenuously his life at Wilton. 
He felt he must catch up with others of his age 
and make amends all too speedily for the dis- 
advantages of earlier years. He had not learned 
the meaning of the old Latin motto, Festina 
lente , ‘ 4 Make haste slowly.” 

But good came of it all. For the visits of Doc- 
tor Gaston, especially those during Paul’s con- 
valescence, marked an era in his life. The heart 
talks with this Christian physician were destined 
to clear away from his mind some perplexities 
which had reigned there for many months. 

“What must I do in life? What shall be my 
calling?” This question had now for some time 
been engaging no little of his attention. When- 
ever Paul felt most deeply the silent influence of 
Mr. Gates ’ character upon him, he exclaimed in 


Mr. Gates and Dr. Gaston. 219 

his inner soul: “Oh, that I might he ai 
worthy minister of the truth.’ ’ Whenever 
the touch of Dr. Gaston’s splendid charac- 
ter was upon his thoughts, he would say, 
“What could he nobler than a layman’s life of 
service ? ’ ’ 

At first it came as a puzzle to Paul’s mind that 
the preacher was constantly emphasizing the 
value of a godly layman’s life; spoke often of 
the exceptional opportunity of Christlike men, 
who from the pew, stand for truth and right- 
eousness among their fellows. On the other 
hand, the good doctor never lost an opportunity 
to speak in high praise of the work of the minis- 
ter, in checking the evil forces that make for 
moral corruption and social decay. 

Such was the question that agitated Paul’s 
mind. Which shall it he? Mr. Gates’ life 
preached a living sermon on behalf of the min- 
ister ; though his advice seemed to point to the 
layman. Doctor Gaston’s life advocated the 
layman, but his voice preached the preacher; 
while over all was God ! 




FAKEWELL. 

“I wonder why Marcus is so 
late coming to his supper? He 
must have gone to the post of- 
fice. It has been nearly two 
weeks since we heard from 
Paul. I’m getting a little un- 
easy. But if the weather has 
been as had down there as it 
has been around this region, I 
S guess the mails are all tied up. 
Any way, I hope Paul is not 
sick. He was getting along 
very well the last time we 
heard from him.” 

So mused Mrs. Judson, as 
she was busied about getting 
ready the simple evening meal. 
The weather had been excep- 
tionally disagreeable, and the 
roads almost impassable. The 


220 


An Unexpected Farewell . 


winter began early, and bade fair 
to maintain its vigorous start. 
The store where the little fourth- 
class post office was kept was at 
least six miles away, across one 
spur of the mountain and around 
another. The task of going for 
the mail was no easy one, espe- 
cially in bad weather. 

Mrs. J udson surmised that Mar- 
cus, uneasy because no letter had 
recently come from his brother at 
Wilton, had, without saying so to 
anyone, struck out for a six-mile 
walk to Gawkins’ Store for the 
mail. He would be late returning. 

Seating herself by the fire, the 
mother waited, while the brown 
teapot was keeping itself warm by 
the huge fireplace. Five, six, 
seven o ’clock, and Marcus does not 
come. As the old staid clock on 
the chimney shelf circles around 
toward eight, anxiety about Paul ’s 
welfare is for the time forgotten 
by concern as to the whereabouts 
of Marcus. 

“This is strange. Marcus has 
never treated me so before. I 
fear some accident has happened 
to him.” 


222 


Paul Judson. 


Nine, ten, and still Marcus does not appear. 
Mrs. Judson was about to retire, consoling her 
mind with the thought that Marcus was safe at 
some neighbor’s for the night. The snow had 
fallen and the roads were probably difficult to 
travel afoot. As she removed her pillow from 
its place, however, Mrs. Judson found a 
note in Marcus’ handwriting, addressed “To 
Mother.” Nervously opening it, Mrs. Judson 
read its contents, as follows : 

“Dear Mother: When you read this I’ll be 
on my way East. You know I have long wished 
to seek my fortune in the world. Do not think 
hard of me. I knew you would not give consent 
to my going, for you wept so when I talked 
about the sea. And yet my life work must be 
commenced some time. When I am getting good 
wages, which I expect, you shall not suffer. I 
am tired of my poverty, and yours, and I see no 
hope either for myself, or for lessening your 
hardships, as long as I stay at Hawk’s Nest. 
Do not think I do not love you, mother. I may 
be with you some day, and I will then make you 
happy. Your affectionate son, Marcus.” 

Mrs. Judson was horror-stricken. An arrow 
had pierced her very soul. That the only son 
now left in her home should have treated her so 
ill, was more than she could bear. She fell 
across the bed and wept. 

Marcus, like many children, did not realize 
the grief his conduct was to give to the mother- 


An Unexpected Farewell. 


223 


heart, for he saw but one side, his own, and 
that, but dimly. Parents, too, often fail to dis- 
cern with sympathy the real struggles of youth. 
Here was a young man, just arriving at the 
estate of manhood, restlessly striving to find his 
proper place in life. Here, too, was a mother 
who could still see in the youth only the child. 
An inner impulse that was driving Marcus into 
the broad unrest of human affairs struggled 
against a force from without, a mother ’s solici- 
tude. The first of these had now won, and the 
result well-nigh crushed the mother’s heart. 

Fortunately, for her loneliness, Mrs. Judson 
soon found some relief in companionship. Her 
goood neighbor, Mrs. Filson, came with a sug- 
gestion which, because it was timely, proved a 
boon of great price. 

“My Nan is ’spectin’ to get married in a few 
days. Her young man is looking fer some small 
piece to cultivate in this neighborhood, if he 
ken git it on sheers; and if you ken rent it to 
’em, they’ll be a mighty heap of comp’ny fer 
you. ’ ’ 

“Who is the young man?” asked Mrs. Jud- 
son, in non-committal accents. 

“He is ole man Josh Bobbins’ son, from over 
yan side Devil’s Mountain. ’Zekiel Bobbins i3 
his name; and they all say he is a good ketch 
fer Nan— a good, steddy, hard-workin’ boy.” 

“When will Nan be married?” asked Mrs. 
Judson, cautiously. 


224 


Paul Judson . 


“Next Sunday week is the app’inted time. 
Zeke ken git off better that day, and then, old 
Brother Cobb Clawton will be to meetin’ on the 
second Sunday in the month, and he ken tie ’em 
up. T never b’lieved in this here way of havin’ 
marryin’ done by no magis trate. Ef I can’t 
have a minister of the gawspel, I don’t want 
nobody fer to marry my daughter. That’s my 
doctrine ’bout marrvin’. Hit’s a solemn enough 
bizness anyhow ; and I want the sanctions of re- 
ligion thrown around everything wherever I 
ken git it— let ’lone a thing like the solemn ties 
of marriage. Ain ’t I right, Mrs. Judson ? ’ ’ 

“I think you are, Mrs. Filson. ’ ’ 

“The young folks is gittin’ so keerless these 
days ’bout matrimony, I don’t know what’s 
goin’ to become of ’em. They ain’t much for 
taking good advice from their elders; they 
wants to see fer theirselves ; and you know, Mrs. 
Judson, that’s gen ’rally too late to do ’em any 
good. Hit’s like them smart doctors in the big 
cities that makes what they calls a post-mortem 
examination as a last resort, but hit’s too late 
to save the patient. That’s the way with these 
hasty marriages. There’s plenty o’ time to re- 
pent at leesure , as they say— hut such repentin’ 
don’t do much good.” 

“Well, I hope Nan will do well,” ventured 
Mrs. Judson. 

“That’s what they all say. Zeke don’t know 
the smell o’ liquor, ’cept ’tis in camphor or 


An Unexpected Farewell. 


225 


somethin ’ like that; and he’s brought up to be 
strictly hones \ I think he ’ll make a good, quiet 
husband.” 

This last quality was, in Mrs. Filson ’s eyes, 
no small consideration, for she had in the life- 
time of her late rather lamented husband been 
accused of doing the talking for two. She was 
not quite ready to he described by the term 
(which, in the mountains of Kentucky, passes as 
current coin), a “ say -nothing woman,” which 
means that the housewife to whom the words are 
applied is a hard-working individual who gives 
her time to attending to her own business and 
that of her household. She is one who says lit- 
tle, but goes straight to her tasks. 

Mrs. Filson was fond of a chat; and others 
beside herself really loved to hear her talk. For 
every now and then she handed out for the con- 
sideration of the listener a bolt of homespun 
wisdom fresh from her own rude loom. Had 
she been blessed with the opportunities of train- 
ing, she might have made a brilliant woman. 
But her native raw material had been allowed 
to season with many a quaint eccentricity. 

“I had a kinder squintin’ notion that Nan and 
Marcus might like one another,” continued Mrs. 
Filson, “but you know, Mrs. Judson, love is 
mightly like a mule, ‘it will go where ’twill go, 
and thet ’s the end un it, ’ ez the poet says. ’ ’ 

“By the way, Mrs. Judson, have you got any 
word from Mark yet ! ’ ’ 


226 


Paul Judson . 


“Yes, Mrs. Filson, I heard from Marcus and 
from Paul in the same mail yesterday. Paul 
has been sick with feYer. ,, 

“The typhoid? That ’s mighty bad. I thought 
he must be sick. But I’m glad he’s gittin’ able 
to write ag ’in. It ’s mighty bad when yer chillun 
is sick away from you. And thet typhoid is 
powerful treacherous, even after you thinks 
you’se well.” 

“But tell me about Marcus,” persisted Mrs. 
Filson. 

It was a sore subject with Mrs. Judson. She 
would have preferred to he silent. Her heart 
was still torn by the disappointing conduct of 
her youngest son. She could not speak of it 
without emotion. And mothers are ever ready, 
naturally, to apologize for the acts of those they 
love, though inwardly they are bleeding with 
grief and shame. 

“Yes, I got a long letter from Marcus. He 
seemed as tender as a baby over leaving home 
so suddenly. He said that he was just com- 
pelled to go, for it was time for him to strike 
out into the world for himself, and he couldn’t 
hear to say goodbye. He always was queer 
about that. I believe the good Lord has some- 
thing in store for Marcus; though it may be 
different from what I thought, and what I 
prayed for. His going away from me means 
that the good Spirit above us all, in some mys- 
terious way, is leading him on for a purpose we 


An Unexpected Farew 


227 


can’t now see, or else— oh, I can’t think that a 
wicked spirit is driving my hoy to ruin. I have 
prayed ever since he rested a helpless babe on 
my breast that the child might grow up to be 
a man of large heart and great deeds ; and may- 
be this is one step in the answer to my prayers. 
I knew that here at Hawk’s Nest he could never 
have an opportunity to do the great things I 
prayed for ; and yet, I felt I must always have 
him with me. The good Lord is in it all, I sup- 
pose.” 

“Why, he’s only a-answerin’ yer prayer, Mrs. 
J udson, ’ ’ suggested Mrs. Filson. “You ’ve been 
askin’ that Marcus be a great big world-size 
man, and now that he’s makin’ his way out in 
the big world you mustn’t set yerself agin’ yer 
own prayin’.” 

“I’m not going to he rebellious,” replied Mrs. 
Judson. “There is an old hymn, ‘God moves 
in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.’ 
I wouldn ’t be true to my good old Scotch bring- 
ing-up, Mrs. Filson, if I didn ’t believe in divine 
providence. ’ ’ 

“Yes, don’t the Bible say God never lets 
even a hair fall from the head of a sparrow 
without his knowledge?” suggested Mrs. Filson, 
whose Bible quotations were somewhat like her 
poke bonnet, not always on straight. 

“It appears like we all got to have our sheer 
o ’ trouble along with it all. As ole Parson Andy 
Patrick use to say, ‘There is a divinity that 


228 


Paul Judson . 


shapes our eens rough, hew ’em howsomever we 
may.’ ” 

“When they were little boys, Mrs. Filson, I 
prayed that if the good Lord in his wisdom 
should see fit, he might make Paul a lawyer and 
Marcus a minister. I called Marcus my John 
Mark, who, in the Scriptures, was of so much 
service for ministering. ’ ’ 

“But Paul’s got the name for the preacher, 
Mrs. Judson. Wasn’t it the Apostle Paul thet 
turned the world down side up with his mighty 
gauspel tongue ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, the Apostle Paul was first a lawyer and 
then a preacher —but I don’t know how my boys 
will turn out. ’ ’ 

* ‘ No, and nobody else knows how airy son or 
daughter they’re got ’ll turn out, Mrs. Judson, 
not in these days o’ peril.” 

“Well, some time back I just turned Paul 
over to the Lord’s tender care. I was trying, I 
fear,” added Mrs. Judson, with moist eyes, “to 
look after Marcus myself. But now I have put 
both of the boys in his keeping— especially 
Marcus.” 

“Thet boy’ll be something yet,” added Mrs. 
Filson. “He’ll make you proud. Mind what 
I say. ’ ’ 




XIX. 

THE GIRL FROM OVER THE SEA. 

“ Steve, where did you get that picture you 
tacked on the wall yesterday !” 

Paul pointed to a small photographic print 
that his roommate, Steve Calder, had placed 
with brass tacks upon the wall of their room. 
The picture represented a fencing girl. 

“It came as a chromo with the Sunday news- 
paper. Billy Furnace bought the paper down 
at the train Sunday and gave me the picture. 
Why, isn’t it a graceful figure !” 

“Yes, but wouldn’t a little more clothing be 
better for the young lady!” replied Paul. 
“I say, Steve, how would you like your mother 
to come in and see that picture— and those over 
there!” 

“I guess you’re right, Paul. I had never 
thought of that. I wouldn ’t like for my mother 
or my best girl, either,” said Steve, with a 
twinkle of merriment, “to come in and see those 
pictures. I guess I ’ll take them down. ’ ’ 

229 


230 


j Paul Judton. 


Without further discussion upon the grace of 
the figures or the art display in the pictures, 
Steve Calder tore down the two prints from the 
wall, crumpled them in his hands and threw 
them into the blazing grate. 

“By the way, Paul, speaking of graceful fig- 
ures, have you seen the young lady who has just 
been secured for the new chair of elocution and 
physical culture? She is as beautiful as a pic- 
ture, tall and athletic looking, yet moves about 
with the grace of a fairy. ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes, that is the new face I have seen in 
chapel. I wondered who the young lady was,” 
said Paul. “She doesn’t look to me more than 
twenty, though I suppose she is older. Steve, 
say rather that she moves with the grace of the 
evening clouds. I do believe she is the woman 
Wordsworth wanted Nature to make, in his 
most beautiful of little poems, 
‘ Three Years She Grew in Sun 
and Shower.’ ” 

“Good for you, Judson. That 
does fit her. The roses have lent 
their red to her cheeks. I guess 
she takes plenty of outdoor exer- 
cise.” 

“Maybe she practices her own 
physical culture, ’ ’ suggestedPaul. 

“I hope the faculty will let the 
boys, as well as the girls, take elo- 
cution and physical culture.” 



The Girl From Over The Sea. 


231 


“ There is to be a course in elocution offered 
to the young men by Miss Bacon/ ’ said Paul. 
‘ ‘ Mr. Holden has already said this publicly, and 
it is so written on the bulletin. But as we have 
our own physical director, we shall have to fore- 
go the privilege of Miss Bacon’s training in cal- 
isthenics !” 

Miss Pauline Bacon had answered an adver- 
tisement of President Holden for the position 
of teacher of elocution and assistant director of 
physical culture in Marton College. There were 
many applicants for the place, but Miss Bacon 
had secured the election. Her personal letters, 
accompanied by her picture, and her high testi- 
monials had won for her first consideration. 
And while Miss Bacon was only twenty-four 
years of age, and looked even younger, she had 
already acquired quite a varied knowledge 
of the world and wide experience with its 
ways. 

She was born in England, but in her early 
childhood her father had moved to Australia to 
seek his fortune in the growing city of Mel- 
bourne. It was in the very year of his arrival 
in Victoria that the Forest Creek gold discov- 
ery was made. At once Alexander Bacon started 
for the region of the yellow metal, just eighty 
miles distant. Amassing a moderate fortune, 
he at length gave up gold mining, and having 
leased from the government a thousand square 
miles of land at a nominal rental, in the north- 


232 


Paul Judson. 


western part of Victoria, entered upon the busi- 
ness of sheep raising. 

It was here that Pauline Bacon’s early child- 
hood was spent. Here she learned to live much 
out of doors ; became accustomed to the saddle, 
and often joined in the merry chase of the kan- 
garoo. At thirteen she was a peerless and grace- 
ful rider. 

The country, though flat, open and lightly 
timbered, was in her eyes most beautiful; for 
she learned to love the eucalyptus and acacias ; 
and it is here the gently flowing Wimmera 
crosses the fertile plains. In the springtime, the 
grass flourishes in beauteous abundance, and 
brilliant flowers bespangle the fields with gay 
profusion. 

Mr. Alexander Bacon, Pauline’s father, had 
met with even greater success in sheep raising 
than in mining gold. On his thousand square 
miles, it was not unusual for one hundred and 
fifty thousand sheep to be browsing in one sea- 
son. And, withal, Mr. Bacon was a devout man, 
having brought to the sheep “station” the cul- 
tured ways and ideals of old England, which he 
felt a pride in cherishing. 

But reverses overtook him at last. First, came 
the death of his wife. Soon the loss of his own 
health followed. The business was turned over 
to others while he traveled in the search of 
that greatest of all material blessings— physical 
health. His only daughter, Pauline, was his 


The Girl From Over The Sea. 233 

companion in travel. He sought recuperation 
in the romantic regions of the historic Nile from 
Ebsamboul to Cairo. He sought it among the 
cherry blossoms of the island kingdom of Japan. 
He tried Brighton in his own native England, 
Aix-le-Bains and Carlsbad upon the Continent. 
But all his efforts to be well again proved fruit- 
less. At last, worn out in body and broken in 
spirit, Mr. Bacon passed away in a little town 
in France. But the fortune was well-nigh 
spent. Calamity had followed fast upon calam- 
ity. Drought after drought had slain the sheep 
by thousands, for in times of little rainfall the 
river which at other seasons waters well the 
wide plains, falls into a chain of pools, and then 
disappears. The once prosperous business, in- 
jured by drought, plundered and neglected, had 
gone to ruin in the hands of inefficient and self- 
seeking men. 

Thus was Pauline thrown out, alone, at the 
age of nineteen, to make her way along untried 
paths in a not too friendly world. Under the 
guardianship of a prosperous uncle in London 
she had secured two years of further study; 
after which a position in one of the government 
schools was opened to her. 

Parliament soon passed an Education Act in 
with some schools were practically given over 
to the administration of the Established Church. 
Miss Bacon, being unable to sign away her re- 
ligious conscience and teach doctrines to which 


234 


Paul Judson. 


she could not subscribe, was forced to resign her 
position and look elsewhere for a livelihood. 

The occasion which induced her to leave her 
place in the English schools naturally caused 
her to turn attention towards America. She had 
learned that here freedom of conscience existed 
as it does in no other country upon the globe. 
Gathering all her savings from her father’s 
financial wreck and the little earnings of her 
brief school career in London, Pauline Bacon 
set sail for the land of the free. 

Having some distant relatives in the state of 
Massachusetts and being attracted by a name 
which in the land of her nativity had been long 
associated with culture, Miss Bacon found her 
way to Cambridge. There she had received in- 
struction in some of the best schools of expres- 
sion on this side of the water, besides becoming 
better acquainted with American ideals and 
modes of life. At length she had advertised for 
a position as teacher, with the result that Mar- 
ton College had secured her services as in- 
structor in elocution and assistant director of 
physical culture. 

It was by this circuitous route that it became 
possible for Miss Bacon to be the subject of the 
conversation between the two roommates of 
146 in West Hall of Marton College. 

i i Steve, did you hear the little piece of humor 
Mr. Holden threw out for the benefit of those 
who are going to take lessons with Miss Bacon ? 9 9 


The Girl From Over The Sea, 235 

* ‘ No. What was it, Paul ? ’ 9 

“Well, he had said that some people do not 
know what real elocution is ; that many look for 
affectation, the putting on of airs, ranting and 
raving and striking fantastic attitudes. He 
then told the story of a little boy who said to 
his father, ‘Pa, what is elocution V ‘Elocution? 
Why, my son, don’t you know what elocution is ? 
Elocution is that new method they have of put- 
ting to death in some states V 9 9 

‘ ‘ Oh, he meant electrocution, didn ’t he ? Well I 
Well! 

“You ought to take the course, Steve.” 

“Oh, I never expect to be a preacher or a law- 
yer or anything like that , 9 9 said Stephen, some- 
what disparagingly. 

i ‘ That makes no difference. Everybody ought 
to be able to express his ideas, if he has any. 
What’s the good of having thoughts, if you can’t 
tell them to other people ? ’ ’ 

“Some persons talk too much, anyhow,” re- 
marked Steve, with abruptness. 

“And maybe you are one of the talkers, old 
fellow; but there isn’t too much good talking in 
the world. It’s the poor talking that bores. 
First get something worth saying and then say 
it in a way worth listening to, and then you’ve 
done the world some good— that’s my doctrine.” 

“You are in training for an orator, Paul, but 
I’ll be satisfied if I can make a good merchant, 
studying the markets and making good trades.” 


236 


Paul Judson. 


“No, I don’t profess to be in training for an 
orator, Steve ; but if you expect to have any in- 
fluence over other people it will do you good to 
study self-possession and grace of manner ; 
learning to say your say well, and to think on 
your feet. You ought to have heard Miss 
Bacon’s first talk to her class. Her subject was 
‘Be Natural.’ ” 

“That’s better than being flat,” injected 
Steve. 

“Ah, you are too smart, Steve; I’ll not say 
you’re sharp, for I see you’ve learned some- 
thing in the music class. But I wish you could 
have heard that talk on being yourself.” 

“Is the teacher as sensible as she is pretty! ” 
asked Steve. “Her eyes are bewitching.” 

“Just as sensible. She is just as charming 
in what she says as in the way she carries her- 
self.” 

‘ ‘ How delightful ! Paul, you will get me in 
the humor of taking elocution whether I wish 
to or not. But what did she say about being 
one’s self!” 

“She said that a man’s chief hope lies in the 
direction of his own make-up; that true ex- 
pression is self-expression. So, be natural, not 
self-conscious. Self-consciousness, she said, is 
fatal to high art and to all success ; that elocu- 
tion is not a set of regulations for speaking, in 
which one must act thus or so and give the rule 
he did it by. I took down in my notebook a little 


The Girl From Over The Sea . 237 

verse she quoted to one of the hoys who said he 
never knew what to do with his hands and feet 
when he got up to speak.” 

“That’s just my trouble,” said Stephen. 

“Well, let me read you the lines; they go in 
this way : 

“The centipede was happy quite 
Until a toad for fun, 

Said, ‘Pray, which foot goes ahead of which?’ 

This worked his mind to such a pitch 

He lay distracted in a ditch 
Considering how to run.” 

“That’s me, exactly, Paul, whenever I get up 
to speak.” 

“Well, let’s both join the class. We shall be 
seniors next year, and if we are going to be ora- 
tors we need to begin at once. ’ ’ 

Miss Bacon had evidently made a deep im- 
pression, not only upon Paul Judson, but upon 
all the students who came in contact with her. 
Paul had lost some weeks through his illness, 
but was now well again, and he threw himself 
with his accustomed ardor into his work. It was 
the rugged body he possessed that enabled him 
to stand the strain of college life, for he had 
been doing twice the work of the average stu- 
dent, a feat which only his greater maturity, 
his strong physique and his persistent will could 
have rendered possible. 

Another year and he would be in the gradua- 
ting class. Though awkward enough at first, he 


238 


Paul Judson. 


was thoughtful, and took upon him the outward 
marks as well as the inner results of culture 
with unusual readiness. 

And now his quick intuition, as well as his 
sober thoughtfulness, discerned that the new- 
comer, Miss Bacon, was well worth knowing. 




XX. 


SEEING THE WORLD. 


There are subtle powers in the *- — - 
soul-country like the sweet influences 
of the Pleiades, which no man can 
hind. Silently these go out from ^^7 * 
some center of power to make them- ~~ 
selves felt at last, to the remotest * 
bounds. Such an influence is a 
mother’s prayer— spoken in secret, 
where none but God can hear; ut- 
tered in some humble corner, out of 
an earnest heart; breathed into the 
unconscious ether, and registered by 
heaven’s divine telegraphy at the 
very throne of grace. 

The recent wanderings of Marcus 
Judson were not without his mother, 
though she moved not a dozen paces 
from her roof at Hawk’s Nest. A 
note had been found under the pillow on the 
evening upon which Mrs. Judson first realized 
that her youngest son, and now her only corn- 
239 


240 


Paul Judson . 


panion, had left her side to seek his fortunes 
in parts unknown. A second brief epistle had 
come saying that he was safe* He was gradual- 
ly making his way to the seaboard. Walking 
to the nearest railway station, which was twenty 
miles away, Marcus had secured a position for 
a few days as substitute in the billing of freight 
and performing such other service as might he 
necessary about the station. With a little 
money which he had in his pocket, he had pro- 
cured a ticket. This insured his passage east- 
ward as far as Huntington, upon the Ohio. 

As the youth stood upon the bank of the river 
one evening before sunset and saw the clumsy 
river boats with their awkward propellers run- 
ning high above the water’s edge; and the be- 
grimed deck-hands tugging at ropes and wrest- 
ling with heavy freight, a certain disappoint- 
ment seized him. There came over him a 
temporary disenchantment for life upon the 
water— so different did all this seem from the 
picture upon the wall at Hawk’s Nest. The 
truth was, Marcus felt lonely. He had left a 
good home in the mountains to find a better 
upon the sea. The former was behind him, the 
latter was only in prospect. 

Securing a position on the wharves, Marcus 
began his experience with maritime life; an 
humble beginning surely. Rough work from 
daylight to dark with only two dollars in his 
pocket at the close of a tiresome week, could 


Seeing the World . 


241 


hardly be regarded as fascinating. By the 
closest frugality, however, Marcus was able to 
subsist, and in a few weeks he secured a better 
position with the News company. Selling pa- 
pers, fruits and bonbons on the through trains 
may not be regarded as a specially attractive 
occupation, but it was so much better than any- 
thing else he had done since leaving home, that 
his heart leaped when he put on his blue uni- 
form and entered upon the train service. Be- 
sides, the young man had been brought at least 
a step nearer to Old Ocean, as he ran his daily 
trips between Huntington and Clifton Forge. 
To him, this was in itself a boon of no small 
price. 

After about six months of service, by a fortu- 
nate transfer, Marcus was enabled to secure 
the run between Charlottesville and Old Point, 
and for the first time he proudly sniffed the 
salt sea-breezes. It was a happy moment when 
after completing his duties for the day, he 
walked out to gaze for the first time on the roll- 
ing waters of Hampton Roads. Strolling 
through the successive entrances to the historic 
fortress, passing sentinel after sentinel, Marcus 
not observing the sign, “Visitors not allowed 
upon this embankment,” at last stood upon the 
rampart, bristling with cannon and command- 
ing the wide expanse of waters. Standing there 
he looked seaward. He filled his lungs with the 
fresh sea air, and seemed intoxicated with its 


242 


Paul Judson . 


powerful exhilaration. No Balboa, seeing 
for the first time his Pacific, dilated with 
profounder delight. He seemed to stand sev- 
eral inches higher in his shoes, and his horizon 
appeared to widen with every breath. He had 
looked out of the car window as the train came 
thundering through the long tunnel under the 
Blue Ridge. After what seemed almost an hour 
of darkness there burst at once upon his ravished 
eyes the entrancing Valley of Shenandoah, the 
most beautiful upon the earth, as it lay like an 
Eden below him. His heart leaped then, as 
midnight darkness yielded to the supernal love- 
liness of God’s own handiwork; like a ready- 
made paradise let down from heaven. And yet 
all this was insignificant in comparison with the 
light and hope that seemed to expand and il- 
lumine his soul when he stood for the first time 
and looked seaward. He beheld the billows 
which spoke to his restless soul of opportunities 
infinite, of possibilities boundless, of eternity 
itself. These feelings were but a prophecy. 
What are men’s restless cravings but the seed 
of God’s own planting, dropped into the soil of 
ihe human spirit to burst and bloom into some- 
thing nobler yet to come? 

Still, Marcus was not happy. Thoughts of the 
dear old mother left far behind in the moun- 
tains— left with inconsiderate abruptness— 
trooped into his mind again and again. They 
came as accusers, unwilling to be silenced. But 


243 


Seeing the World. 

day by day his work was well performed, and 
no one found occasion to regret that he had had 
dealings with Marcus Judson. 

One day, at the seaward end of his run, as he 
was strolling along the street which leads to the 
wharves at Old Point, he saw a sign in front of 
the government building: Wanted, Enlisted 
Men. Reading the huge placard more closely, 
he observed that Uncle Sam needed soldiers and 
sailors. “ Sailors !” thought Marcus. “May I 
not enlist in the navy, and serve my country on 
the sea!” 

At first the idea greatly pleased him. His 
long cherished hopes might in this way be real- 
ized ; and glory, too, might some day perch upon 
his banner. 

“At last I have the chance to be a sailor,” 
mused he, nervously fingering the brass button 
of his coat. 

As he sat gazing out into the waters there 
would crowd upon him, willing or unwilling, the 
stubborn inquiry, “Would the saint at Hawk’s 
Nest sanction the enlistment!” So powerful 
was the influence of the strong character under 
whose care Marcus had been nourished, now al- 
most to manhood, that the question became in- 
evitable. What would she think! Then all was 
changed. Away back in the mountain home 
Mrs. Judson was one of the most ardent ene- 
mies of war that could be found in three days’ 
travel. She had been, as it were, made per- 


244 


Paul Judson. 


feet through suffering. When a girl wife she 
had heard the cannon’s roar, and knew the 
meaning of anxious separation from the young 
soldier who had hut recently become her hus- 
band; she had known what it was to live upon 
a pittance of meal each day, with burnt grains 
of corn or parched sweet potato for coffee. She 
had felt the horrors of private warfare. Is it 
strange, therefore, that she loved peace and had 
taught her boys to repeat and to believe the 
poem in which is the line : 

“As for war, I call it murder!” 

Marcus, on second thought, resisted the in- 
clination to join the marines, preferring to serve 
his country in pursuits of peace. He was wait- 
ing for the first favorable opening to launch out 
upon the great highway of his future hopes. 

One day he could but feel that he had some- 
thing important to say to his mother, and so he 
sat down and penned her these 
lines : 

“Dear Mother: I had a Sun- 
day off last week and I felt so 
lonesome I went over to Nor- 
folk. The boats run over from 
Old Point many times a day. 
Oh, what a fine location! It is 
right near the sea, and great 
ships come in to take on their 
cargoes of freight, grain and 
tobacco, and to get coal. I went 



Seeing the World. 


245 


to a church called Freemason church, named for 
one of the streets. A fine old gentleman named 
Burrows was in the pulpit. He is aged ancj 
gray and has a round fatherly face. He read 
the Bible as I never heard it read before, with 
his rich mellow voice. I wish you could have 
heard him. Such a sermon ! Tears came to m^ 
eyes. Mother, it made me feel I wish to live 
a better life. There I made a vow with my 
Savior that I would give my life to his service. 

‘ 4 On yesterday, which was Sunday, I was bap- 
tized. Mother, you have never been immersed, 
but it seemed to me so like the Scripture bap- 
tism. The preacher made a little talk on the 
subject, before we went down into the water. 
His text was ‘Thus it becometh us to fulfill all 
righteousness.’ He said, ‘Is it not a pity that 
some, by christening children in their infancy, 
take away from them the sweet privilege of 
obeying this command of Christ for themselves 
—when they are converted and can know what 
it means.’ 

“You will not be angry at me for joining a; 
Baptist church, just as Paul did. In reading 
the Bible every night last week I tried to find a 
case of sprinkling infants and I couldn’t find 
a single one. So far as I can see there is not in 
the whole Bible a place where infants and bap- 
tism are even mentioned together. I believe 
the preacher must have been right when he said 
he had taken every text that anybody ever 


246 


Paul Judson. 


quoted in favor of baptizing babies, and the 
passages are of three classes, 1 First, those 
where the children are mentioned, but not bap- 
tism, like “Suffer little children to come unto 
me;” next, where baptism is mentioned but no 
children, like Lydia’s household; and lastly, 
where neither baptism nor children is men- 
tioned, like the passage from the Old Testa- 
ment, “So will I sprinkle many nations.” ’ 

“Try it for yourself, mother, and see if you 
can find any case of infant sprinkling. I pray 
your forgiveness, if I have treated you badly in 
leaving home as I did. It looks as if I will get 
good out of it. You know I love you. I just felt I 
must seek my fortune in the world. Time was 
passing so fast. I know you will forgive me. 
and some day I hope you will feel proud of me. 
Write, mother, and tell me you forgive. As I 
sat and listened to the good man preach I asked 
the Lord to forgive me my sins and to take care 
of my mother so lonely among the hills. Pray 
for your wandering boy. Write me that you 
forgive all. ’ 9 

But the mother had already forgiven. 

Not many days afterward, strolling along 
the wharves for recreation at the close of his 
day’s work, Marcus observed a large ship lying 
at the docks. He decided to go aboard and ex- 
amine the huge “greyhound of the deep.” 
What a noble piece of enginery it was— like a 
monster of the sea resting for its next long 


Seeing the World . 


247 


voyage. The youth became in- 
tensely interested in every 
part of the great ship. How 
long he had been aboard he 
did not know, so absorbed did 
he become. Nothing appear- 
ed to escape his notice— from 
the great heavy rods that 
drove the wheels, to the deli- 
cate instruments of precision. 

‘ ‘ What is this curious instru- 
ment f” inquired the young 
man of one of the sailors who 
stood near by. 

“That, me lad, is the pyro- 
meter.’ ’ 

“What is it for?” asked the 
persistent youth. 

“Ah, it is that delicate”— 
said the sailor in peculiar ac- 
cent which Marcus had never 
heard before, for foreign ac- 
cent is never heard in the re- 
gion about Marcus’ home; 
Anglo-Saxon blood is nowhere 
purer than in that rugged land. 

“It is that delicate, sir, 
that a candle a mile away 
would be detected. It meas- 
ures heat, sir,” explained the 
sailor. 



248 


Paul Judson. 


“A mile off?” said Marcus, with surprise. 

“Yes, sir, a lighted candle a mile off, sir, will 
register itself on this instrument, sir . 9 7 

“What’s the good of it?” persisted Marcus. 

“Why, sir, it serves in case of fire ; if fire were 
to break out on board of the ship, sir, this in- 
strument would set the bells to ringing and 
give the alarm all over the ship, sir.” 

“That is wonderful,” added Marcus, as he 
passed on to observe the next miracle in naval 
construction. To him the great ship was full 
of wonders. So interested and unobtrusive was 
he, that he had been given full liberty in observe 
ing. He did not care if it should be easily de- 
tected that he was a “land-lubber,” and that, 
too, from the distant backwoods . He came to 
see ; he saw, and cared not. 

Suddenly, awaking from the entrancing in- 
terest that for two hours had held him, he 
thought he observed that the ship was in mo- 
tion— a fact to which he had before been utterly 
oblivious. At once he rushed to a quarter- deck, 
and gazed out. There was no mistake. The 
ship was moving on its way seaward. What 
should he do? The waters were now wide, and 
the passing ships were becoming fewer. At 
first Marcus was quite ashamed to mention his 
discomfiture. Presently, summoning sufficient 
courage, he called to one of the mates who 
chanced to be passing. 

“Oh, sir, can’t you stop the ship and let mq 


Seeing the World. 


249 


off! I didn’t mean to stay on board so long. 
Can’t I get back to the wharf!” 

“My young man,” said the officer, “I don’t 
see how you can do so now. The ship is well 
under way. I’m very sorry, but it can’t be 
helped.” 

“What am I to do!” asked the youth, almost 
frantic with fear, as he realized for the first 
time the real gravity of the situation. 

“We might possibly signal some vessel going 
into port,” suggested the mate, “and put you 
off, but the chances are against it now. You’d 
better rest easy. You’ll be taken care of.” 

These last words were consoling to be sure, 
but to Marcus the situation was indeed serious. 
At once he began to wish himself back at Hawk’s 
Nest. All his past life in the humble region of 
his birth crowded back upon him and even the 
moments of restless longing to get out into the 
world, seemed sweet in comparison with the 
predicament into which he had just now fallen. 
For the moment, his early notion of the sea 
changed into horror and disgust. But it was 
himself which he abhorred even more than the 
sea ; and the end of his troubles was not yet. 

Gradually, he settled down in calmness, ac- 
cepting as gracefully as he could what he had 
no power to remedy. The seamen treated him 
with consideration, and all aboard the ship took 
kindly care over the youth whose presence was 
a mere accident. Knowing that it was really an 


250 


Paul Judson . 


earnest interest in navigation that was the cause 
of the dilemma into which Marcus had fallen, 
all hands gave him the keener attention. They 
soon knew his whole story, which reached as far 
back as the Kentucky mountains. 

The captain was a kind old tar and told Mar- 
cus how he could easily make his way on the 
voyage. The accidental sailor was accordingly 
assigned to duty, polishing the brass trimmings 
in the cabins and helping to keep the decks 
clean. This service, after the first few days of 
discomfiture from seasickness, a necessary evil 
for those who are not at home upon the billows, 
was really enjoyed by Marcus, for he bega;n to 
feel that his desire to be a seaman was being 
realized, though in a most unexpected way. 
There was ample opportunity for him to take 
up again his tour of inspection, which was be- 
gun when the ship lay at the wharf, but which 
came to an untimely end. He began to learn 
much about the modern vessel. He could stand 
on the deck and see the sportive porpoises vying 
with the great steamer in speed; leaping high 
into the air, and then plunging playfully into 
the waters again, as if tempting the ship and its 
crew to undertake the same masterly feat. 

He could gaze out into the distance and ob- 
serve the hazy outlines of the iceberg floating 
slowly, but with irresistible power from its 
Northern home, to lose itself at last in the genial 
waters of the Gulf Stream, or yield to the per- 


Seeing the World. 


251 


sistent rays of the summer sun. The geyser- 
like spouting of the monster whale, also now 
and then caught his eye ; and the distant passing 
ships were a source of occasional delight. 

One night just after Marcus had retired to his 
hunk for well-earned rest, he heard the sound 
of excited voices, and the cry of ‘ 4 Fire ! fire ! 9 9 

Sniffing the air, he thought that he himself de- 
tected the smell of smoke. 

Throwing himself into his clothes as rapidly 
as he could, he rushed out upon the deck. 

The first thing that met his eyes was the 
ship’s crew rushing below, dragging the huge 
hose after them. 

In a few minutes the entire ship was aroused. 
Women and children rushed from their state- 
rooms, half-clothed and frantically wringing 
their hands. Men turned pale, as they saw the 
smoke oozing out from the hold and filling the 
ship. 

In vain did the captain try to reassure the 
panic-stricken passengers. “There seems to be 
some fire below. It has broken out in the grain 
stowed in bulk in the hold,” said he, “but 
there’s no danger. A whole compartment may 
burn out and this vessel will remain afloat , 9 9 af- 
firmed he, with confidence. “This ship is built 
with water-tight compartments.” 

But the people were not satisfied. The 
mighty engines of the ship were now puffing 
their level best. It was evident that the captain 


252 


Paul Judson. 


wished to lessen the distance between his vessel 
and the nearest land, and that, as speedily as 
possible. 

The sailors, except those actually necessary to 
handle the ship, were now all turned into 
desperate fire-fighters. They fought bravely be- 
low, in the midst of the smoke which was dead- 
ening ; for the captain was unwilling to open up 
the hold, knowing that the air which the fighters 
of the fire needed, would fan the smoldering 
fires, in an instant, into an uncontrollable flame. 

One after another, the seamen were brought 
out as dead men to the open air of the deck, 
overcome with the heat and suffocation of their 
close quarters with the fire. The deck at length 
looked like a ward in a great hospital, as the 
brave men lay unconscious upon their backs in 
deadly pallor. 

The suspense was horrible. Marcus had 
joined with the other brave men and youths in 
contending with the flames. At last, overcome 
with the terrific heat and choked to suffocation, 
he fell, like one lifeless, in his tracks, and was 
brought unconscious to the upper air. 

As the gray dawn began to break the intense 
darkness of night, a cry was heard upon the 
upper deck. 

“Land! land! We’re nearing land.” For a 
light was clearly seen, burning in the distance. 
So it was. A strong wind— indeed, a hurricane, 
had been blowing all night, and the ship had 


Seeing the World . 


253 


been unable to hold her ordinary course. The 
captain, however, had kept the reckonings with 
remarkable accuracy, and determined if possible 
to run the ship upon one of the Scilly Islands. 

The vessel at length struck, and was held fast 
amid the jagged rocks. The strong wind had 
subsided but the sea was still angry with the 
furious, in-rushing billows. The small boats 
were let down and for five hours the brave sea- 
men were desperately striving to save every 
life that had been committed to their charge. 
The last cargo of human freight had scarcely 
left the burning ship when a dull explosion was 
heard. The pent-up, smoldering fire, which 
had only needed the air to give it fury, now 
burst forth from below with maddened hunger, 
as if irate at its long waiting. In an instant, 
the noble vessel was wrapped in its winding- 
sheet of flame. 

When Marcus gained consciousness he found 
himself lying on the beach upon a strange island 
—the same upon which more than a century be- 
fore Ben Franklin was cast by a fearful storm, 
as he journeyed to England to bear a message 
from the Colonists to the mother country. 
Around him were the ship’s crew, all rejoicing 
in the deliverance that a kind Providence had 
given them. But none could be happy, as the 
thought of the hardship which yet awaited them 
gradually dawned upon their minds. 



“My senior year! Steve, how do 
you feel as a grave and reverend 
Senior? Haven’t you grown at least 
six inches since you were a Junior?” 

“Well, Paul, I do feel something 
leap within me when I remember that 
school days will soon he passed,” re- 
^ plied Stephen, as he raised his eye 
from his book. “It’s all right to go 
to college, but I’m dreadfully rest- 
less to get out into the world.” 

“Get out into the world, Steve? 
Why, you’re already in the world, 
jl< *' t my hoy. Haven’t you found that 
out yet? The world will leave you 
behind, if you are sitting down waiting to get 
into it.” 

“That’s quite right, my young philosopher— 
254 


A Bit of History. 255 

but come, Paul, when did you hear from Miss 
Tunstall ? ’ 1 

“Why, bless you, Steve, you change the sub- 
ject of your conversation suddenly. I heard 
from Miss Tunstall yesterday.” 

“I knew it; for I thought I saw a suspicious 
handwriting on the back of the envelope I 
brought you from the office last night, and a sus- 
picious look on your face, too, when you took it. 
Come, Paul, how’s the case getting on? I have 
always thought you would marry the very day 
after commencement. ’ ’ 

“Hush, Steve. Miss Tunstall has other and 
weightier matters upon her mind just now. 
She’s giving little attention to matrimony, I 
warrant you; as for myself— well, I’m young 
yet.” 

“Where has Virginia been ever since her 
graduation?” inquired the roommate. 

“When Virginia left Marton College, with 
her honors so thick upon her, she secured a posi- 
tion in one of the Indian schools.” 

“In Indian Territory?” 

“Yes, and a fine teacher I know she is making, 
for she is not only a born teacher, but she al- 
ways said she wanted to be a missionary.” 

“Well, she can be both out there.” 

“Yes, and has to work very hard, she writes.” 

“Why, I thought those Indian schools have 
money enough to get as many teachers as they 
need.” 


256 


Paul Judson. 


“You are mistaken, Steve, at least about the 
school in which Virginia teaches. The schools 
conducted by those of our faith have no govern- 
ment aid.” 

“Why is that? I thought Congress is very 
liberal to the Indian schools. ’ 9 

“Yes, but our people believe that it is not the 
government’s business to aid schools that are 
controlled by religious denominations. They 
believe that only the public schools should be 
maintained by public funds; and that all re- 
ligious enterprises ought to be supported by 
the free offerings of the people who are controll- 
ing them. Our people have refused to accept a 
single cent of government money to run their 
missionary schools.” 

“I shouldn’t think thdy would turn down 
Uncle Sam ’s cold cash. ’ ’ 

“That reminds me, Steve. I have about de- 
cided to take as the theme of my graduating 
speech, 4 Soul Liberty. ’ Is that too high-sound- 
ing a subject?” 

“That rolls pretty well on the tongue,” re- 
plied Steve. 

“The other day,” remarked Paul, “I was 
reading in Bancroft’s History of the United 
States, and came upon these words : 4 Freedom 
of conscience, unlimited freedom of mind, was 
from the first, the trophy of the Baptists.’ I 
am proud of my own people. ’ ’ 

“We shall expect great things of you, Paul, 


A Bit of History. 


257 


in that commencement oration. Remember, the 
honor of room one-forty-six is in your keeping, ’ ’ 
said Stephen. 

“I am going to do my best; Miss Bacon is 
going to be of great help to me. ’ ’ 

“Ah, I have seen you going over to call upon 
Miss Bacon rather frequently of late. If you 
were only a freshman, I should think nothing 
of it, but a graduate— it looks suspicious. I’m 
afraid Miss Bacon, the present, will eclipse Miss 
Tunstall, the absent.” 

4 ‘ But, Steve, have you never heard that little 
piece of verse, which says, ‘ Absence makes the 
heart grow fonder?’ ” 

“Yes, but isn’t it generally fondness for an- 
other that grows, Paul?” 

“Miss Bacon came to this country for con- 
science’ sake, and so she has already made to 
me a number of suggestions. But she can be 
specially helpful in criticising my delivery. She 
is a thorough student of expression.” 

“Yes, I notice a different expression on your 
face every time you come from her presence.” 

“Naturally enough, Steve. When the sun 
shines brightly everything around is tipped in 
gold.” 

“Why, the very mention of her makes you 
poetic. I have been trying to decide whether the 
color of the gold which is to tip your beaming 
face for life is the British gold, or that from 
the mint which is now as far away as Indian 


258 


Paul Judson. 


Territory. Is it to be Paul and Pauline, or an- 
other case of ‘Paul and Virginia !’ ” 

“How romantic either of those would sound,’ ’ 
added Paul, who, to all appearances, went dili- 
gently on with his work. 

That very afternoon Paul had an engagement 
with Miss Bacon to read her his graduating ad- 
dress; that she might criticise pronunciation, 
posture, and the like. 

“Why, Mr. Judson— if I may leave the matter 
of the delivery a moment—” said Miss Bacon, 
presently, as she became absorbed in the sub- 
ject matter of Paul’s speech, “have you not im- 
bibed rather radical ideas of freedom! You 
would seem to favor every local congregation 
of Christians governing themselves, without 
being called upon to give account to anybody 
on earth. ’ ’ 

“That’s it exactly, Miss Bacon. The churches 
have only one head, and that is their Founder,” 
replied Paul. 

“I know that, but what assurance do such in- 
dependent churches have that they may not go 
wrong!” 

“They do go wrong sometimes, but so do 
popes, bishops and councils.” 

“Brought up as I was, absolute independ- 
ence of the churches seems to me very loose- 
jointed. 1 believe in freedom of conscience 
which you are advocating. I have seen enough 
of religious favoritism and coercion in my own 


A Bit of History. 


259 


country to cause me to feel deeply in that mat- 
ter. But what a loose sort of organization you 
are advocating ! ’ ’ 

“I believe in organization, , ’ replied Paul, 
“but the principle of freedom demands that it 
be purely voluntary. The Scriptures tell of no 
organizations but local churches, and of the 
voluntary co-operation of these in carrying on 
such work as needs to be done by combined 
effort.” 

Just then Mr. Gates, who was always wel- 
comed, and always at home in the college build- 
ings, entered the room. He had caught some of 
the conversation as he approached, and was in- 
vited to join the young pair in their discussion. 

“But the policy you advocate makes the 
churches seem like a rope of sand which may 
fall apart at any time,” remarked Miss Bacon. 

“Not if the Scripture idea of a church is pre- 
served,” said Mr. Gates, ready to help Paul in 
the argument. “If a church is composed only 
of those who have been sincerely converted and 
are under the direction of God’s Spirit, no out- 
side pressure or authority is necessary to keep 
them together. Did you see yesterday that large 
flock of birds going northward as the summer 
approaches ? Presently they all alighted, as by 
a common impulse, and filled the trees for acres 
around. In a short while they all rose again 
into the air, and as one great flock, went on 
their chosen way. It is just as Solomon says 


260 


Paul Judeon. 


3a 




V 
* V 


V 




v ^ 


-$T' 


of the locusts : ‘They have no king 
hut they go forth all of them in 
hands.’ So when Christians are •jw 

hound together hy a common 
spirit, having a like purpose in 
their hearts, they do not need some 
one to rule over them. They will 
govern themselves hy the Spirit 
of God which is in them.” • 

“But Christians are not always 
as spiritual as they ought to be,” 
said Miss Bacon. H 

“No, hut the way to make a 
spiritual church is to keep close to the New 
Testament. When only regenerated people are 
admitted to the churches, it will not he so im- 
portant to have a few select souls to govern the 
many. It is unscriptural, and was a great 
blunder, to admit unconverted children into the 
churches, whether they come in hy baptism or 
by confirmation. The church is for converted 
people.” 

“But were not infants admitted into the com- 
monwealth of Israel under the old dispensa- 
tion!” ventured Miss Bacon. 

“Yes, the hoys were initiated into it and also 


261 


A Bit of History. 

servants in the family— regardless of any heart 
qualities. And it was just there that the old 
covenant proved a failure, and broke down. It 
was just as Jeremiah, the prophet, said, ‘ Be- 
hold the days come, saith the Lord, that I will 
make a new covenant with the house of Israel, 
not according to the covenant they brake; but 
this is the covenant that I will make with the 
house of Israel after those days, saith the Lord, 
I will put my law in their inward parts and in 
their heart tvill 1 write it, and I will be their God 
and they shall be my people.’ John the Baptist, 
the herald of the new dispensation, understood 
this ; for do you not remember when men came 
and asked to be baptized on their ancestors ’ ac- 
count, John said, ‘Say not, we are children of 
Abraham; God can of these stones raise up 
children to Abraham. Repent for the Kingdom 
of Heaven is at hand.’ People might be born 
into the kingdom of Israel, but they were to re- 
pent and believe the gospel before they could get 
into the Kingdom of Heaven. It was a sad day 
when so large a part of Christendom went back to 
the old plan of admitting persons into the church 
because they were children of their fathers. The 
church is for those only who have been born 
again, through faith in Jesus Christ. Men are 
not saved by families, but by individual faith. ’ ’ 
“What a grand thing that would be if all 
church members were spiritual,” added Miss 
Bacon. 


262 


Paul Judson. 


“Yes,” continued Mr. Gates, “and when un- 
converted people were brought into the churches 
in large numbers, it became necessary to have 
a head or a governing body, because the people 
being unspiritual, were not competent to govern 
themselves. But where only converted people 
are received, it is natural enough to put the 
management into the hands of all, placing all 
upon equal footing. 4 One is your Master, even 
Christ, and all ye are brethren.’ ” 

“What a high ideal that is,” ventured Miss 
Bacon. 

“It is like the ideals in a republic,” suggested 
Paul. “It is dangerous to put the ballot into 
the hands of the ignorant and the vicious ; but 
for real freemen, it is the best government in 
the world. It cultivates their best qualities of 
manhood to have the responsibility of self-gov- 
ernment placed in their hands. So it is in the 
churches. Self-government is the best govern- 
ment for a church of spiritually minded men 
and women. I have read that Thomas Jefferson 
was impressed with the beauty and value of a 
republican form of government by noticing the 
workings of a little Baptist church in Vir- 
ginia, ” 

“You seem to be well up on such subjects. 
You must have been reading.” 

“Yes, Miss Bacon, I have been at work on the 
question of Liberty of Conscience for a whole 
year, so that I might choose it as my subject in 


263 


A Bit of History. 

case I was appointed a speaker at commence- 
ment. I have ransacked the whole college li- 
brary and Mr. Gates has given me several vol- 
umes from his collection.” 

“The view you are advocating, then, as I un- 
derstand it,” said Miss Bacon, “is local self- 
government for the churches, and voluntary co- 
operation on the part of Christians and Chris- 
tian churches in such work as they cannot do so 
well separately.” 

“That’s the idea exactly, Miss Bacon. I be- 
lieve that is the New Testament idea, and that 
both the nations and the Christian churches are 
coming more and more to demand self-govern- 
ment. The republic is to be the future form of 
government, or else all signs fail.” These 
words were spoken with all the positiveness and 
prescience that characterize college seniors. 
But, it must be admitted, Paul had done much 
reading upon the subject. 

“Iam truly interested in your conclusions as 
to this matter. You seem so full of it,” re- 
marked Miss Bacon, as she encouraged Paul to 
continue talking upon a theme which evidently 
had so gripped him. In truth, Paul in his college 
course had made a specialty of political science, 
and all historical as well as theological subjects 
had for him an engrossing interest. In all 
of these, Mr. Gates had been counselor and 
guide. 

“In my reading, Miss Bacon, I stumbled upon 


264 


Paul Judson. 


a quaint old Baptist preacher from New Eng- 
land, John Leland, who was so much pleased 
with Thomas Jefferson for advocating the doc- 
trine of self-government so forcibly, that he had 
the ladies of his congregation make an immense 
cheese. They added all their curds together, 
till the mass weighed fourteen hundred pounds. 
It was before the days of railroads, so Mr. Le- 
land put the cheese on a cart and hauled it all 
the way to Washington. Entering the White 
House with much gravity, he presented the huge 
gift to Mr. Jefferson as a token of appreciation 
of his efforts on behalf of civil and religious 
liberty. Mr. Jefferson’s political enemies had 
much merriment over the ‘mammoth cheese,’ as 
they called it, and some even wrote funny poems 
about it. But the president was highly delighted 
at this unusual expression of confidence. Old 
John Leland, at least, derived much satisfaction 
from the incident.” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Miss Bacon, with vivacity, 
“one of the first historic spots I visited after 
coming to America was Monticello, where 
Thomas Jefferson is buried, and I copied the 
very words that he dictated for his monument. 
I remember the inscription very well: ‘Here 
was buried Thomas Jefferson, author of the 
Declaration of Independence, of the Statute of 
Virginia for Religious Freedom and Father of 
the University of Virginia.’ ” 

“No wonder the Baptists were fond of Mr. 


A Bit of History. 


265 


Jefferson, for they had always advocated the 
doctrines which he expressed in his writings and 
put into law,” added Paul. 

“I remember,” said Miss Bacon, “that when 
I visited Mr. Jefferson’s home at Monticello, 
on my way to Kentucky, a farmer, an intelli- 
gent old gentleman, who conducted us, would 
have us continue our drive to a spot which he 
regarded quite as sacred as Monticello, or even 
Jefferson’s tomb itself. Finally he asked us 
to get out of the vehicle and walk with him up 
the hill. He was nearly ninety years of age, he 
told us, but his step was wondrously spry for 
one of his years. When he had reached a eer- 
tain spot, the old gentleman made bare his head 
and spoke in dignified tones : ‘ This is the very 
spot on which the old Lewis Baptist meeting- 
house once stood. It is here that Mr. Jefferson 
frequently worshiped, and here used to meet 
the church whose methods impressed upon Jef- 
ferson ’s mind the value of a republican form of 
government. ’ 

“A professor in our party,” continued the 
young lady, “ventured to puncture the enthu- 
siastic old gentleman’s claim, by suggesting that 
Mr. Jefferson was well read in the government 
of all republics of ancient and modern times, 
and so had no need to be instructed in those 
matters by a Baptist church or any other body 
of people. ‘True enough, sir,’ replied the old 
man, ‘Mr. Jefferson was the most learned states- 


266 


Paul Judson. 


man that has ever occupied the president’s 
chair. But it was the church at Lewis ’ meeting- 
house, sir, that kept impressing upon Mr. Jef- 
ferson the value and the beauty of self-govern- 
ment, and the practicability of republican ideas, 
sir. Dolly Madison, the brilliant wife of Presi- 
dent Madison, and others of repute, testified to 
hearing Mr. Jefferson give this little church, 
sir, the credit of holding up the republican 
polity continuously before his eyes and demon- 
strating to him its practical value. ’ 

“Patrick Henry, too, was an ardent advocate 
of religious liberty,” said Miss Bacon, calling 
to mind her early knowledge of the struggle 
between her native land and the colonies. i 6 He 
was the man whose speech every American boy 
loves to speak, and I like to hear them recite it, 
for they seem to throw their whole soul into it : 
‘I know not what course others may take, 
but as for me, give me liberty or give me 
death.’ ” 

“Yes, Miss Bacon,” added Mr. Gates, “I have 
read that one day Patrick Henry was present at 
a country courthouse in old Virginia. A case 
was being tried which greatly excited his inter- 
est. There was no counsel for defense of the 
two men who were on trial and he volunteered 
to represent them. The culprits were two Bap- 
tist minister's arrested for preaching Christ’s 
gospel as th^understood it. The charge was : 
* Preaching the gospel of the Son of God 


A Bit of History. 



(<V 


contrary to the laws of the Com- ( 
monwealth of Virginia . 9 When 
the time came to speak on behalf 
of the accused, Patrick Henry 
arose, and seizing a copy of the 
indictment read it dramatically:', 
‘For preaching the gospel of the^y 
'Son of God!’ and waving the y (f^ 
instrument above his head, cried fr- 
ont, ‘My God, has it come to 
this!’ and he took his seat. The ' 
sentence was like a stroke of 
lightning. It went through the 
hearts of all present. The 
preachers were, for the time, re- 
leased. ’ ’ 

“Patrick Henry must have 
been one of the greatest natural 
orators that America has 
ever produced / 9 ventured Miss 
Bacon. 

“He was one of the greatest 
that ever lived, and one of the 
foremost advocates of religious 
liberty, as well,” said Paul, with 



268 


Paul Judson. 


manifest pride in America *s contribution to civil 
and religious freedom. 

“When I read that early history / 1 continued 
Paul, “I feel proud that I am an American.” 

“And I think you seem to feel some pride in 
being a Baptist, too.” 

‘ I do. The Baptists were among the very first 
to volunteer in the army of the Revolution. 
They had no sympathy with Toryism and, to a 
man, offered their services to establish inde- 
pendence. Excuse me, Miss Bacon, all this hap- 
pened so long ago, that I hope as one born in 
England you are not sensitive about it . 9 9 

“Not at all. Say what you please. Every 
true Englishman is heartily ashamed of the 
policy of Lord North in trying to oppress the 
colonies ; and we are all great admirers of Wash- 
ington. 9 9 

“Washington was both great and good,” said 
Mr. Gates, with fervor. ‘ ‘ He complimented the 
bravery of the Baptist soldiers who volunteered 
in such large numbers at the very beginning of 
the war, bestowing upon them high praise.” 

“Praise from Washington,” injected Miss 
Bacon, “was praise indeed.” 

“The Baptist people,” Paul added, appar- 
ently without any flagging of his interest in 
the theme about which he had so lately been 
studying, “though ardent supporters of the war 
for independence, were at first dubious about 
adopting the constitution which Madison, Ham- 


26& 


A Bit of History . 

ilton and even Washington himself favored.” 

“What was their objection?” inquired Miss* 
Bacon. “Its advocates were very great men.’* 

“Yes, so they were, hut the Baptists who had 
been so much persecuted in the colonies and in 
Europe were very sensitive on the subject of 
religious liberty. They had never favored 
either persecution or the slightest discrimina- 
tion against any person because of his religious 
views, although twice as a people there had been 
opportunity for so doing— in the days of Crom- 
well in England, and of Roger Williams in 
Rhode Island.” 

“That’s a record to be proud of,” said Miss 
Bacon. “I doubt if any of the older denomina- 
tions of Christians can say the same.” 

Here Mr. Gates again ventured to speak. 

“I do not believe any other people can claim 
as much. Before the Baptists of Virginia were 
willing to vote to adopt the constitution, their 
convention sent a letter to George Washington, 
in which they said : ‘ When the Constitution first 
made its appearance in Virginia, we as a society 
feared that liberty of conscience was not suffi- 
ciently secured. Perhaps our jealousies were 
heightened by the usage we received in Vir- 
ginia under the regal government, when mobs, 
fines, bonds and prisons were our daily repast. 
Convinced on the one hand, that without an ef- 
fective national government the states would 
fall into disunion ; and on the other, fearing that, 


270 


Paul Judson. 


we should be accessory to some religious op- 
pression, should any one society in the union 
predominate over the rest ; yet, amidst all these 
disquietudes of mind, our consolation arose 
from this consideration, that if religious liberty 
is rather insecure in the constitution, the ad- 
ministration will certainly prevent all oppres- 
sion, for a Washington will preside. Should 
the buried evils that have been so pestiferous 
in Asia and Europe, faction, ambition, war, per- 
fidy, fraud and persecution for conscience’ sake 
ever approach the borders of our happy nation, 
may the name and administration of our beloved 
president, like the radiant source of day, scatter 
all those dark clouds from the American hemis- 
phere.’ ” 

“That was eloquent. Did Washington make 
any reply?” inquired Miss Bacon. 

“He did. To these courteous, but earnest 
words the president replied; ‘If I could have 
entertained the slightest apprehension that the 
Constitution might possibly endanger the re- 
ligious rights of any, or that the general gov- 
ernment might even be so administered as to 
render the liberty of conscience insecure, I beg 
you will be persuaded that no one would be more 
zealous than myself to establish effectual bar- 
riers against the horrors of spiritual tyranny 
and every species of religious persecution. For 
you doubtless remember I have often expressed 
my sentiments that any man, conducting him- 


A Bit of History. 


271 


self as a good citizen and being accountable 
to God alone for his religious opinions, ought to 
be protected in worshiping the Deity according 
to the dictates of his own conscience. While I 
recollect with satisfaction that the religious so- 
ciety of which you are members has been, 
throughout America, uniformly and almost 
unanimously the firm friends of civil liberty, 
and the persevering promoters of our glorious 
revolution, T cannot hesitate to believe that they 
will be faithful supporters of a free yet effi- 
cient general government. Under this pleasing 
expectation, I rejoice to assure them that they 
may rely upon my best wishes and endeavors to 
advance their prosperity. I am, gentlemen, 

“ ‘Your most obedient servant, 

“ ‘George Washington.’ ” 

“I never knew before that such letters were 
written, ’ ’ remarked Miss Bacon. ‘ ‘ How I could 
wish that England had learned the lesson of re- 
ligious freedom, as well as did America, through 
its great leaders.” 

“You seem so much interested, Miss Bacon,” 
continued Mr. Gates, “let me tell you an inci- 
dent that happened in the campaign which was 
to decide whether Virginia would adopt the Con- 
stitution, and so come into the proposed Union. 
There were powerful advocates on both sides. 
On one side was James Madison; on the other, 
Patrick Henry. Mr. Madison, who had given 
more thought to the question than anybody else 


272 


Faul Judson. 


in the whole country, was a candidate for the 
convention which was to decide which course 
Virginia should pursue. The people had pre- 
vailed upon John Leland, the Baptist minister 
(who later gave the cheese to Mr. Jefferson), to 
run against Mr. Madison. Leland was then a 
citizen of Virginia and a near neighbor of Mr. 
Madison. Leland consented to run, for he was 
one of the best posted men in Virginia on the 
subjects with which the convention was to deal. 
He had written a great deal on the subject of 
free government, liberty of religion, and such 
topics. The quaint and talented preacher said 
he would accept the nomination offered him and 
run against Mr. Madison, unless the latter 
would agree to stand in the convention for per- 
fect equality of all before the law, and such a 
constitution as would guarantee absolute free- 
dom of conscience for every citizen. 

“It was announced that Mr. Madison would 
present his claims to election at Orange Court 
House on a certain day. J ohn Leland was there 
and listened very attentively. When the famous 
statesman had finished, Mr. Leland mounted a 
hogshead of tobacco and said : 4 Fellow-citizens, 
I am satisfied with Mr. Madison’s views as he 
has just expressed them. I have never desired 
to run, unless it should seem necessary to carry 
out cherished principles. I shall not be a can- 
didate for election to the Constitutional Con- 
vention, and I here and now urge all my friends 


273 


A Bit of History. 

and fellow-citizens to vote for Mr. Madison.’ 

“Mr. Madison was triumphantly elected. But 
it was conceded that had Mr. Madison not 
pledged himself to stand for perfect equality 
for all religious bodies, and Mr. Leland had run, 
the man who, more than any one else, was re- 
sponsible for the framing and adoption of the 
Constitution of the United States would have 
been defeated. Some have speculated upon the 
question how different the history of our coun- 
try might have been had Leland instead of 
Madison been elected; for if Mr. Madison had 
failed of election, Virginia would probably not 
have adopted the Constitution, and the Union 
might never have been formed— certainly not 
at that time. But Leland withdrew; Madison 
was elected; the Union was formed; religious 
liberty was guaranteed by the Constitution, and 
we all cry, ‘Hurrah for the Union!’ ” 

“Why, you and Paul seem to have the history 
of your country at your tongue’s end, and a 
right honorable history it is.” 

“Ah, Miss Bacon,” said Paul, “if you remain 
in America long enough, as I hope you will, you 
will make a most excellent citizen, I am sure.” 

“Can a woman become an American citizen?” 
asked Miss Bacon, slyly. 

“Well, she might at least become the wife of 
some loyal American. Maybe that would be 
better.” 


XXII. 

ABOUT TO SAY FAREWELL. 

“ Who’s that old lady from 
the country we saw you with a 
while ago, Judson? Is that your 
sweetheart come to see you gradu- 
ate?” 

There seemed to be a special 
emphasis upon the words “from 
the country.” A hearty guffaw 
followed this question addressed 
to Paul Judson by one of the 
freshmen who stood in a little 
group of idlers gathered on the 
campus. 

“Yes, it is my sweetheart, and 
she has come to see me graduate. 
But she’s not old. I hope you all 
have mothers, boys, and may they 
live forever!” 

It was, in truth, Paul ’s mother. 
Mrs. Matilda Judson had much 
difficulty in reaching Wilton to 
274 



About to Say Farewell . 


275 


see Her boy graduate. She Had ridden over the 
same route Paul came when, mounted upon old 
Tab, He turned his face the first time toward 
Marton College. Since Her son Had finished 
his course with distinguished honor, Paul 
had insisted that his mother should be present, 
even though her coming and her stay at Wilton 
should require the last cent he could make or 
borrow. And so Mrs. Judson had arrived. 

She was no longer a young woman. And yet 
for one who had lived nearly three-score years, 
she was unusually alert. There was a stoop in 
her shoulders, a mark of her hard work. She 
had not been a stranger to the wash-tub in her 
day; nor had she refrained from taking up the 
hoe and tilling her garden when those rank 
enemies of her flowers and vegetables, the 
weeds, began to get the upper-hand around her. 
Mrs. Judson made it a practice never to allow 
the weeds to grow under her feet. 

Her dress of coarse texture, made plainly, by 
her own hands ; her straight poke bonnet which 
had not gone entirely out of fashion in the re- 
mote region of Hawk’s Nest, gave her an old- 
fashioned appearance which attracted attention 
on the streets of Wilton. 

Paul and his mother had just returned from 
a little walk down to the river. They crossed 
the bridge which gracefully spanned the beau- 
tiful stream. Paul could not rest till he had 
shown his mother the very rock upon which he 


276 


Paul Judson . 


sat nearly five years before when Marcus, with 
the two horses, receded from his view and left 
him with the question of advance or retreat. 

“This is the spot where I fought and won ” 
said Paul, with exultant emphasis. “If I had a 
chisel, I should carve upon this stone the words : 

“ ‘Look up and not down; 

Look forward and not backward.’ ” 

“Bless you, my boy, I hope that may always 
be your motto/ ’ said the woman from Hawk’s 
Nest, with motherly fervor. 

Next day was Sunday. Mrs. Judson had 
reached Wilton a day or two ahead of the com- 
mencement exercises. The baccalaureate ser- 
mon was to be preached on Sunday night. In 
the morning, students were allowed to exercise 
their religious freedom and attend whatever 
church they might desire. 

“Mother, you will go with me to church to- 
day?” 

“Certainly, my son, I wish to hear all the 
preaching I can while I’m here. Preaching in 
our neighborhood, you know, isn’t as regular 
as it might be. Besides, Paul, I am anxious to 
hear that friend of yours, Mr. Gates. You have 
spoken of him so often I would really like to 
hear him speak the Word.” 

“Very well, mother, we shall go early.” 

Before services began, Paul and his mother 
had taken their places in the meeting-house. 
He had conducted her well to the front, as 


277 


About to Say Farewell . 

though He were proudly showing her to the en- 
tire congregation. 

It happened to be “ communion Sunday.’ ’ 
Paul, on discovering this, felt at first that there 
might be some embarrassment because his 
mother was not of the same Christian fellow- 
ship. Her feelings could not be in the least dis- 
turbed without at the same time affecting his 
own. 

It was Mr. Gates’ custom on such occasions 
to discourse briefly upon some aspect of the 
Lord ’s Supper. There was no exception on this 
day. The preacher took as a text, “This do in 
remembrance of me. ’ ’ 

“It is fair to suppose,” said he, “that the 
Master had a reason for everything that he did. 
Why did he establish this beautiful symbolism? 
The answer is in the words of our Lord when he 
first instituted the Supper : ‘ This do in remem- 
brance of me ; for as oft as ye eat this bread and 
drink this cup, ye do show the Lord’s death till 
he come.’ ” 

The preacher gave a beautiful talk upon the 
Savior’s death, and the need that every dis- 
ciple keep that event constantly in mind, because 
it is the central fact in man’s redemption. 

“But,” said the preacher, “when we eat of 
the bread and drink of the wine, we symbolize 
the truth not only that Christ died, but that we 
also are partakers of his death. Having died 
to the old life, we are nourished in the new life, 


278 


Paul Judson. 


by feeding upon tbe divine manna; the bread 
which cometh down from heaven; even as our 
Lord said, ‘Except ye eat the flesh of the Son 
of Man and drink his blood, ye have no life in 
you.* 

“It is for this reason,’ ’ continued Mr. Gates, 
“that all Christians today agree that the Lord’s 
Supper is intended only for baptized believers. 
There was a time,” he added, “when infant 
communion existed along with infant baptism. 
The first gradually died out, because it was 
afterwards thought to be unworthy of the Chris- 
tian idea, as the infant could not understand 
the meaning of the ceremony, nor derive from 
it any benefit. It is the same thought which is 
growing so rapidly today concerning infant bap- 
tism. 

“Our people,” he proceeded to say, “have 
been misunderstood in their teaching concern- 
ing the table of the Lord. We believe, with all 
the rest of the Christian world, that the Master 
commands baptism first, and then the breaking 
of bread. But being convinced that only the 
immersion of a believer is Christian baptism, 
we cannot from the Scriptures conscientiously 
encourage any to come to the table until he has 
obeyed the command to be immersed upon a 
profession of his faith. 

“If it were our table,” continued Mr. Gates, 
“we should be glad to invite all to come, whether 
they have obeyed the first command or not, but 


279 


About to Say Farewell. 

since it is tHe Lord’s table we are compelled to 
leave it just where lie left it— first baptism and 
then the Lord’s Supper. We are no closer than 
any others in the communion , but we are stricter 
in baptism. 

“ What a pity it is,” he added, “that all God’s 
people cannot sit together around the table. 
But surely those must bear the blame who have 
brought in another sort of baptism than that 
commanded by Christ and practiced by his 
apostles. 

“And, while I am upon this subject,” con- 
tinued Mr. Gates, “let me say that many have 
made too much of the idea of communing with 
one another . For in none of the accounts given 
of the Supper is the idea of Christians commun- 
ing with one another anywhere mentioned. 
‘This do in remembrance of Me!’ ‘As oft as 
ye eat this bread and drink this cup ye do show 
the Lord’s death / not your friendship for 
others ! ‘This is the new covenant in my blood’ 
—covenant made with the Lord, not with one an- 
other. 

“It is only indirectly that we commune with 
another at all, and that idea is quite subordinate 
to the great thought of the ordinance. Think 
not about who is present or who is not. It ob- 
scures and dwarfs the beautiful symbol to bring 
it down to the human level and to talk about 
communion with one another . ‘This do in re- 
membrance of me ! ’ 


280 


Paul Judson. 


‘ ‘ When at last, all our imperfections have 
been purged away, when all the short-comings 
and the disobedience of Christ ’s followers shall 
have been wiped out, and all the saints of God 
shall stand complete in him, then they will en- 
joy perfect fellowship in the presence of their 
glorified Lord. Meanwhile, let us labor that the 
day may be hastened when all his followers 
shall be one, by a return to his original doctrines 
and life.” 

The plea on behalf of unity was an earnest 
one. But it was a unity through perfect con- 
formity to the teachings of the New Testament, 
and not a unity of mere sentimental regard for 
our friends. “As oft as ye eat this bread and 
drink this cup, ye do show the Lord’s death till 
he come.” 

At these words, the elements were passed 
throughout the company of worshipers. There 
was no effort to prevent any one from partici- 
pating, although it was understood that only 
baptized believers were expected to partake. 

“Mother,” said Paul, as the two walked out 
from the meeting-house, “I wish so much you 
could have taken of the bread and wine today . 7 7 

“I, too, wish, my son, that all Christians could 
see these things alike. You know how I regret- 
ted that you did not choose the church of your 
fathers, but it ’s all right, if your conviction and 
your duty separated you from me.” 

“You did not feel offended by anything Mr. 


281 


About to Say Farewell. 

Gates said to-day V 9 
“ Offended? Not at all, my son. Mr. Gates 
is perfectly right from his point of view. I have 
always said that Baptists are right about the 
Lord’s Supper, if they are right about baptism. 
It all hangs there. Our great and good man 
among the Presbyterians, Dr. John Hall, had 
this opinion, because I remember he wrote: ‘If 
I believed with the Baptists that none are bap- 
tized but those who are immersed on profession 
of faith, I should with them refuse to invite 
others to eat of the Supper.’ ” 

“Yes, mother, I am glad you see that it is not 
a lack of love for Christians of other faiths that 
causes Baptists to withhold the invitation. It 
is a matter of conviction that God’s Word puts 
baptism before communion, and that baptism is 
immersion. It is one of the ways in which Bap- 
tists give their witness against infant sprinkling. 
This they feel obliged to do, since it is a part of 
their mission.” 

“Well, Paul, we’ll not discuss that question 
now. I enjoyed being with you at your own 
church. I entered heartily into every part of 
the service in which all of us agree, and I too 
hope that the time may not be far away when 
all who bear the name of Christ may see all the 
truths alike.” 

On the morrow Paul was to make his com- 
mencement address. He was up bright and 
early, refreshing his memory so that the speech 


282 


Paul Judson . 


might he delivered in his best style. He had 
already won some distinction as a speaker in 
the Demosthenes Literary Society of which he 
was a member. The minds of all were prepared 
to hear something from Paul Judson that would 
be worthy of the young man, of his college, and 
of the occasion. 

When Paul arose, cheers were given him with 
a hearty good will. This in itself was a stimulus 
to his performance. Besides, let it not 
be forgotten, there were two persons in the 
audience whose presence added a little more 
nerve fluid to the compound that made up the 
young orator’s commencement feelings. The 
one sat near the front with her elated spirits 
proudly shining forth from beneath her poke 
bonnet. He would do his best for her sake, 
whose sacrifices from his cradle to the college 
had made this happy occasion possible. The 
other whose erect and graceful form marked her 
as a young woman of exceptional beauty, had a 
place midway in the sea of up-turned faces. 
Had you observed her closely as she sat you 
would have seen the large, blue eyes, that al- 
ways flashed with life whenever their owner’s 
interest was enlisted. To-night they beamed 
with unusual brilliancy. Her cheeks, always in 
bloom, wore now just a little deeper touch of 
the rose. And as the speaker swept his glances 
through the large audience before him, when- 
ever his eye met the eye of the girl from over 


283 


About to Say Farewell . 

tHe sea, it was like a thrill of electric power that 
imparted new impulse to his soul. 

Paul’s first epigrammatic sentence caught the 
attention of his auditors : 

“The soul of all freedom, is the freedom of 
the soul.” 

Paul sketched rapidly the growth of the idea 
of religious freedom, from the days when Peter 
and John proclaimed to the Sanhedrin their 
declaration of independence, in the emphatic 
words, “We must obey God rather than men,” 
down to the recent struggles in England, France 
and Russia to separate the management of the 
church from that of the state. He showed how 
every effort to bring about what the great 
Italian called the noblest achievement of modern 
thought, “A free church in a free state,” ac- 
cords with the teaching of the church’s Found- 
er, when he said, “Render unto Caesar the 
things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things 
that are God’s.” 

The young man’s special fondness for the 
study of history and political institutions, 
coupled with an intense religious spirit which 
he had developed almost from infancy, rendered 
the subject he had chosen one into which he 
threw his whole being. 

Those heroic struggles, first to wrest the state 
from the domination of the church, and then to 
wrest the church from the control of the state, 
passed in graphic review as the young orator 


284 . 


Paul Judson. 


painted them in few but deeply vivid lines. 
The superhuman achievements of Luther, of 
Savonarola and Huss, of Wickliffe and Cranmer 
were not forgotten. Nor did the speaker omit 
the manly witnessing of that long line of saints, 
progenitors of the Baptists, who never bowed 
the knee to papal mandates, nor quaked before 
the machinations of civil rulers ; men who were 
martyred, hunted and driven to the dens and 
caves of the earth. He compared them to some 
1 ‘ mountain stream that has gushed fresh and 
full from the threshold of that temple of which 
Christ is the chief corner-stone, and flowed on 
to bless the world abundantly till covered up by 
the rubbish of formalism and the debris of false 
systems ; but which at length had broken forth 
again from its subterranean bed, to refresh and 
fertilize the modern world with its everlasting 
power and purity.” 

Bunyan, confined in Bedford jail for con- 
science’ sake and writing his imperishable al- 
legory passed rapidly in review. Roger Wil- 
liams, driven out of Massachusetts because he 
dared protest against usurpations of the state 
in the realm of conscience, and forming the first 
commonwealth that ever existed where perfect 
equality was given every man to worship God 
as his conscience directed— all these were pre- 
sented with eloquent enthusiasm. 

“Come with me,” said he, “and you may be 
guided to a spot where are preserved in hal- 


285 


About to Say Farewell . 

lowed reverence some irregular scraps of brown 
paper stitched together as notebooks and close- 
ly covered with the handwriting of Jonathan 
Edwards. Why did he use such coarse material 
in his studies? Why was he forced to the very 
verge of starvation? Because he dared oppose 
the doctrine of the standing order that the un- 
converted might have part in the privileges of 
the church. WTiy were his wife and daughters 
compelled to make fans and sell them to buy 
bread ? Because he opposed the Half-way Cove- 
nant and set himself to shaking the church loose 
from the encroachments and control of the un- 
believer. This is why his notebooks were made 
from the refuse paper left from the fans. And 
it is a credit to the developing greatness of the 
commonwealth of Massachusetts that there is 
nothing she so dislikes today as to be fanned 
with those very fans. They are reminders of 
the days when the consciences of her sons were 
not free. 

“Go back with me in imagination to the days 
of the Establishment in Old Virginia and see 
Waller, Ware, Greenwood and Webber held in 
Urbana jail. See a little coterie of Baptist min- 
isters arraigned before Spottsylvania court for 
‘preaching the Gospel of the Son of God con- 
trary to the laws of the colony.’ Behold Patrick 
Henry, that ardent lover of liberty and fair 
play, enter the room and volunteer to defend 
them. See him take up a copy of the indictment 


286 


Paul Judson. 



and read in solemn and impressive 
tones, ‘For preaching the Gospel 
of the Son of GodV Waving the 
document graphically above his 
head, he exclaims, ‘For preaching 
the Gospel of the Son of God/ 
‘My God, has it come to thisV Lit- 
tle more needed to he said, for the 
words went like a thrill through 
every soul. The men for the time 
were dismissed. In their fidelity 
to their convictions they kept on 
preaching the Gospel of the Son 
of God, and were arrested again. 
It was Waller who made so power- 
ful a defense of himself and com- 
rades, the court was perplexed to 
know how to dispose of the cul- 
prits. They spurned release upon 
the condition that they should 
preach no more in that country 
‘ for a year and a day . 9 They were 
remanded to jail. As they walked 
through the streets of quaint old 
Fredericksburg on their way to the 
prison, they were heard singing in 
awful solemnity that old hymn : 

“ ‘Broad is the road that leads to death, 

And thousands walk together there, 

But wisdom finds a narrow path, 

With here and there a traveler.’ 


287 


About to Say Farewell . 

“Scores were influenced by the strange and 
impressive scene. Lewis Craig, on his release, 
went to Williamsburg to petition the authorities 
to guard him and his fellow workers in their 
rights, and received this note from Deputy Gov- 
ernor John Blair, directed to the King’s at- 
torney in Spottsylvania : 

“ ‘Sir: You may not molest these conscien- 
tious people so long as they behave themselves 
in a manner becoming pious Christians and in 
obedience to the laws. The act of tolera- 
tion (it being found by experience that perse- 
cuting dissenters only increases their numbers) 
has given them a right to apply for licensed 
houses for the worship of God according to their 
consciences ; and I persuade myself that the gen- 
tlemen will quietly overlook their meetings tilj 
the court. I am told that they administer the 
sacrament of the Lord’s supper near the man- 
ner we do, and differ from our church in nothing 
but that of baptism, and in their renewing the 
ancient discipline, by which they have reformed 
some sinners and brought them to be truly 
penitent. Nay, if a man of theirs is idle and 
neglects to labor and provide for his family as 
he ought, he incurs their censures, which have had 
good effects. If this be their behavior, it were to 
be hoped we had more of it among us. But at 
least I hope all may remain quiet till the court. 

“ ‘I am with great respect, to the gentlemen, 
etc., your humble ser’vt, John Blair.’ 


288 


Paul Judson. 


“It was of such sturdy stuff as these pioneers 
of conscience that the religious foundations of 
our own commonwealth were laid. For these 
very men, Waller and Craig moved westward 
with the star of empire and turned the religious 
wilderness into a spring of water. Today we 
enjoy the privileges of freedom, because our 
heroic ancestors refused to allow either kings, 
princes or potentates to forge a chain upon their 
consciences. Liberty of the soul lies at the 
heart of all freedom; for only he has freedom 
whom the truth makes free.” 

Paul’s speech was the closing 
^ feature of the evening. The ap- 

™ ^ ** plause was deafening. He had 

barely had time to reach the place 
where his mother sat, though it 
was at the front. He laid the 
diploma he had so justly earned in 
her lap, and was about to impress 
a kiss upon her cheek, when some of the boys, 
carried away with enthusiasm on account of the 
noble way Paul had acquitted himself in the 
evening’s exercise, rushed toward him, grasped 
him in their arms and were soon bearing him 
away upon their shoulders. Others gave the 
college yell with a vim, coupled always with the 
name of their young orator : 

“Rah! Rah! Rah! 

Sifl! Boom! Ah! 

We’re Marton! Sartin’! 

Rah! Rah! Rah! Judson!” 



About to Say Farewell . 


289 


They carried him out upon the campus and 
several times around the building, till wearied 
of their crude fun, they set him on his feet 
again. As soon as Paul could disengage himself 
from this rough, but well-meant praise, he re- 
turned to find Mrs. Judson still waiting for him. 

“Paul,” said she. “You made a good speech 
tonight. Do not let the boys turn your head.” 

“How about the girls, mother?” 

“Well, the girls —my opinion is, my son, that 
when a girl turns a young man’s head, if she’s 
the right sort of a girl, she’ll mighty soon put 
it right again. But, about that speech. I can 
remember hearing your grandfather say that 
when he was a boy he remembers going to the 
funeral of a good old Baptist preacher away 
back in the days you told about tonight. He 
was one of those who were put in jail for preach- 
ing the gospel. But the old man couldn’t be 
silenced by the law. Even from the jail win- 
dows he would speak his message to those whq 
gathered around. Some times wicked men 
would hang about the windows, and as the aged 
saint would make his gestures through the iron 
bars, they’d cut his hands with knives. When 
the old man’s pale white hands were crossed 
upon his breast in death, there were the knife- 
scars made years before at the jail windows.” 

“Those men had the stuff of martyrs in 
them,” said Paul, and his mind seemed to pass 
into a deep reverie. 



There are no struggles like the heart strug- 
gles; no battles like those fought within the 
citadel of the soul. 

As the college session closed, and Paul Jud- 
son stood on the threshold of a new era in his 
life, he felt he was stepping out into an un- 
known world. The high tension under which he 
had wrought for several months, brought its re- 
action. In truth, his nervous system was upon 
the border of collapse. He had not been 
thoroughly strong since the attack of fever. 
Ambition and hard work had their effect upon 
his strong constitution. 

Besides, the college, which had for five stu- 
dious years nourished him like a mother, seemed 
now to be pushing him out rudely, saying, “I 
have no further use for you.” He seemed to 
feel the rough hand of some officer of the law 
laid upon his shoulder, saying, “ Young man, 

290 


The Old Man of the Woods. 


291 


move on.” Like a mother eagle with her brood, 
his alma mater was in the very act of breaking 
up the nest and pushing from the crag the 
fledgelings which for months had enjoyed her 
tender care. So Paul Judson felt the need of 
some guiding hand like that of the person in the 
poem: 

“ As the bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt the new-fledged offspring to the skies, 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay 
Alhired to brighter worlds and led the way.” 

How different were all these feelings from 
those Paul had a few years before imagined 
himself enjoying, when the goal of graduation 
should be reached. With melancholy, almost 
bordering upon desperation, Paul retired for 
what he thought might be his last night in 
Wilton. 

But he could not sleep. 

Steve, by his side, at waking intervals noticed 
his restlessness. At length arising from the 
bed, Paul began to get into his clothing. 

“ What’s up, Paul? Surely it isn’t time to 
rise yet. It is as dark as Erebus out of doors. 
What’s the matter?” 

“Oh, nothing; I can’t sleep. I thought I’d 
dress and go out into the air. Maybe I’ll feel 
better. My head is feverish. The air will do 
me good.” 

“I’ll dress and go with you, Paul, ’’—for Steve 
had noticed how absent-minded Paul had been 


292 


Paul Judson . 


that night before retiring. Some unusual mood 
had manifestly come upon him. Steve was real- 
ly alarmed lest the overtaxed condition of the 
brain and a serious, concern about something — 
Steve knew not what— -had unsettled his nervous 
system. 

* ‘ Never mind, Steve, I would rather be alone. 
Go to sleep. You must take an early train. Get 
your rest, I’ll return shortly.’ ’ 

These words were so emphatic and so sane 
that Steve consented to dismiss his anxiety, and 
soon was fast asleep. 

“I would rather he alone.” ‘And so he was. 
Feeling his way through the dark hall-way, 
which in the quiet of the night echoed every 
foot-fall, Paul was soon in the open air. 

The moon, through a hazy circle of light was 
making a poor effort at shining. But the moon 
could give Paul no light upon the problems 
which now agitated his heart. 

He made his way to the central college build- 
ing and seated himself upon the steps. 

There is something of unmistakable pathos 
about the loneliness of old age— when one looks 
about him in life’s ever-lengthening, autumnal 
shadows and realizes himself as the last leaf on 
the tree; when the friends of other days are 
present no longer, save in memory; when one 
walks alone, the 

“Banquet hall deserted, 

Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead 
And all but him departed.” 


293 


The Old Man of the Woods. 

when tHe on-rushing throng of younger lives, 
with hopeful, elastic step press on their way 
scarcely observing the old man’s presence, as he 
waits for the call of the Captain to unloose from 
its moorings the cordage of his weather-beaten 
bark, to take the last long voyage. But the 
loneliness of youth has its pathos no less real ; 
when the young man feels that his problems are 
too difficult to solve ; that no one can thoroughly 
understand him, and no one offer a helping 
hand. Paul Judson felt lonely. His mother had 
returned to Hawk’s Nest. His only brother was 
out on the wide, wide sea. From this one, none 
had heard a word for months. Paul had some 
good friends in Wilton, but the present battle 
is one he must fight out for himself. 

As he sat there upon the stone steps of the 
college and looked out toward the future, there 
came into his mind the day when five years be^ 
fore, he had taken his seat upon a stone by the 
roadside, with Wilton in the foreground, and 
saw over his shoulder the vanishing forms of 
Marcus and the two horses which had brought 
them across the mountains. Before him there 
lay the college, and in his heart the expectant 
thrill at the very thought of an education. Now 
behind him lay the course of study for 
which he had striven, and which he had 
with much honor compassed. But before him 
was— what? 

“ I must in some way pay back what I have 


294 : 


Paul Judson. 


borrowed, ’ ’ said Paul to himself, as he sat with 
his head almost buried in his lap. 

1 1 For two months I have been seeking to find 
some employment by which I may pay every 
cent. I must lift that mortgage again. Mother 
must no longer be anxious lest the home place 
be sold over her head. She’s getting too old for 
that. The enxiety is killing her.” 

A mortgage had been placed upon Hawk’s 
Nest in order to secure money to complete 
Paul’s education. This Mrs. Judson had been 
willing to do, notwithstanding the bitter ex- 
periences and memories of that cut-worm of 
debt, which had caused so heroic a struggle in 
the past. 

Paul had hoped to secure a position in a pub- 
lishing house, with which he had had corres- 
pondence, but nothing had come of it, although 
a definite promise of employment had been 
made him. Other offers had therefore been de- 
clined. Now, at the close of the session, word 
had come that there was no opening because of 
a change in the firm, necessitating other altera- 
tions in the house’s plans. 

“And what am I going to do in life?” was the 
question Paul seriously asked of his own soul. 

Much hung upon an answer. For a while 
money, for debts and daily bread, was sorely 
needed. Paul did not care to be pulled about in 
every direction before finding his life task. 

There had been much correspondence with 


The Old Man of the Woods. 295 

business houses and lawyers’ firms since the 
publishing house failed him. He must wait at 
Wilton till the question of temporary employ- 
ment should be decided. Like the one whose 
illustrious name he bore, he was hemmed in on 
all sides and was now at his Troas, looking out 
upon the sea and waiting for the vision of thq 
man of Macedonia. 

At length the gray streaks in the eastern sky 
began to admonish our sleepless watcher that 
the new day was about to dawn upon the drowsy 
world. 

“Will it be a new day for me,” thought Paul, 
as he arose, quite stiff from the hard stone and 
the chill of the night. He returned to his room, 
Steve was still asleep, and Paul laid himself 
quietly upon the bed. 

In an hour, Steve had said his affectionate 
farewell to one whom he had learned to love 
with great devotion. 

“I wish you well, Paul. The letter you’re 
looking for I hope will come in the next mail, so 
that you may settle the question what you will 
do this summer. I expect, old fellow, you ’ll get 
a fat job,” said he, thinking to cheer him a 
little. 

“I’ll let you know my address, Steve, as soon 
as I get settled. Be good to yourself. My love 
will always follow you, old man.” 

Steve Calder, the son of a well-to-do father, 
was not so agitated about the future as was 


296 


Paul Judson. 


Paul. But freedom from anxiety is by no means 
a sure prophecy of coming success. 

Steve was soon on his way, speeding home- 
ward. In truth, Marton that morning began to 
look deserted. For at the close of the session 
the students were like the sora of the marshes 
when they sniff the first frost in the autumn air 
—gone in a night. 

Paul was the first that morning to inquire at 
the office for his mail. Again his heart fell in 
disappointment, for there was no word of hope. 
He decided to take a walk into the country. 
From the days of his early childhood Paul had 
loved the great out-of-doors. Each year at 
home as the genial days of the springtime kissed 
the crocuses and arbutus into life he heard the 
call of the woods and went forth to talk with 
himself, and God. When a boy at the plow, the 
huge rocks used to speak to him, and sometimes 
he would even stop the horses to listen to their 
silent message. So now his heart heard even 
above its own questionings the voice of the 
open air, as nature, to the mind attuned, speaks 
her “■ various language.” 

But nature, that wondrous old dame, does nol 
have the same story for everybody; nor in her 
infinite variety does she whisper to the same 
person a twice-told tale. It depends much upon 
each man’s moods what message she will bring. 

Paul walked on, over mountain paths he had 
gone before in school days. Nature never seemed 


297 


The Old Man of the Woods. 

to him so solemn. She was reserved, serious, 
reticent. On, and yet on, he went till he knew 
not how far behind him was the chapel-spire of 
Marton College. New paths, and by-paths, of 
the mountains were traversed that day. 

Presently, glancing up from the deep ravine 
that encircled him, Paul saw almost concealed 
by a thicket, a crude hut. It was built in the 
most primitive fashion of unhewn logs and poles 
which grew but a few feet from the place whera 


the hut stood. Its 
aged owner and sole 
occupant was ob- 
served as Paul ap- 
proached the quaint- 
ly mystic abode. 

The old man was 
. His long gray hair, 
inclined to curl about his shoulders, gave the 
air of a patriarch, and the very sight of him 
called forth the feeling of reverence. His face 
was wrinkled and his clothing worn, but there 
was an unexpected air of refinement about the 
lines of his countenance. 

Paul stopped for a moment in manifest sur- 
prise ; for he was almost upon the aged gentle- 
man before either knew of the other *s presence. 

“ Excuse me, if I am intruding,” said Paul, 
as he bowed politely. 



298 


Paul Judson. 


“No intrusion, my young man, for I’m glad 
of such a break in my life’s dull monotony. 
Come take a seat on the door of my humble dwel- 
ling. Here is a cool drink of water from the 
spring. ’ ’ 

Paul seemed as much surprised as the old man 
appeared to be pleased air such an unexpected 
meeting. 

“I’m glad you’ve found your way into my 
sequestered world, ’ ’ said the quaint old denison 
of the forest, as he put the drinking gourd back 
into the bucket. 

“It has been full ten weeks since I even heard 
the sound of human voice. Occasionally the 
crack of a rifle sounds through the rocky caverns 
of the mountains and I know that some deer is 
wounded or is fleeing for its life from the cruel 
aim of the huntsman. But I seldom see the face 
of human-kind. How did you find your way into 
this, my calm retreat 1 ’ ’ 

“I just wandered on, engaged with my own 
thoughts,” answered Paul. “Excuse me, if I 
have intruded upon your privacy.” 

“Not at all, young man. I said once that I no 
longer loved mankind, and so withdrew to this 
quiet nook to live with nature, and to worship 
nature ’s God in my own way. But I find that I 
love men more than I once supposed. I am glad 
to look on your manly, young face. Sit down 
and let’s talk a little together.” 

Paul took a seat upon a rude bench made by 


299 


The Old Man of the Woods. 

'four undressed poles whose ends were sharp- 
ened and inserted obliquely through a heavy 
roughhewn board. As a piece of furniture, 
though not suggesting comfort, it was in perfect 
keeping with its surroundings. 

6 ‘You will wonder,’ ’ said the old man, “how 
I came to dwell far out in this mountain wilder- 
ness. Excuse me, it is not a wilderness, but as 
goodly a spot as God ever blessed or his 
sun e’er shone upon. I call it God’s own 
spot.” 

“Oh, I was so tired,” continued the aged 
speaker, as he grew more demonstrative, “of 
all that was false, strained and perverted ir 
the world in which I lived in my youth. Sham ! 
Sham and falsity all about me ! I came out into 
this quiet nook to live my days where all is 
truthful around me. 

“I love the birds, the beasts, the trees and 
wild flowers. They are God’s own handiwork. 
And they love me. The squirrels eat out of my 
hand, the birds sing around my hut as though 
they would grant me one perpetual serenade. 
The little fishes from the brook will lie quietly 
in my hand till I throw them back again into 
their element. 

“Just yesterday when some hunter across the 




300 


j Paul Judson . 


mountain had fired three rounds of shot at some 
object— I then knew not what— there came run- 
ning to my cabin door, where I sat as you find 
me today, a lovely fawn. I knew then that those 
shots had been meant for the destruction of its 
innocent life. The harmless, panting creature 
fell exhausted before me and coming cautiously 
nearer crouched between my feet. Then looking 
beseechingly into my face it begged me for pro- 
tection. For that creature I would have fought 
to the laying down of my own life. 

“Yes, sir, these creatures are my friends. I 
sometimes call them my brothers in fur, in 
feather and in fin. It’s love, more than blood, 
that makes brotherhood.” 

The old man spoke with feeling. There was 
evidently something behind his words that had 
shaped his life history. He had not revealed all. 

“Yes,” he continued, “the animals respond 
to loving treatment, often more promptly than 
does humankind, with its jealousies, its strifes 
and burning hatreds. Turning through the 
pages of the blessed Book, which a traveling 
dispenser of the Word left me— God bless him! 
—I stumbled upon these words : 

“ ‘In famine he shall redeem thee from death 
and in war from the power of the sword. Thou 
shalt be hid from the scourge of the tongue; 
neither shalt thou be afraid of destruction when 
it cometh. At destruction and famine thou shalt 
laugh ; neither shalt thou be afraid of the beasts 


301 


The Old Man of the Woods. 

of tHe earth, for thou shalt he in league with the 
stones of the field, and the beasts of the field, 
shall be at peace with thee ; and thou shalt know 
that thy tabernacle shall be in peace. ’ 

“ There was a time, young man, when I was 
forbidden to read the Bible. It was a sealed 
book, intended, I was told, only for the learned 
and the priests. The common man could not 
understand it, and might read it to his own de- 
struction. But I tell you, my youthful friend, 
the Book found me, away out in this lonely spot, 
and has given me many a blessed moment. It 
has brought me new thoughts of God and his 
ways in this glorious world. I say again, ‘God 
bless the colporter,’ who discovered me in this 
remote nook, as you have today. The grass- 
hopper has ceased to be a burden, and I am 
blessed . 9 9 

“Have you been in this place long?” Paul 
ventured to ask. 

“I was a soldier in the Civil War. I’ve seen 
blood enough in my day. It's all wrong sir. 
Men were not made to kill and butcher, but to 
be brothers. Do we not read of the time when 



300 


P<ml Judson. 


mountain had fired three rounds of shot at some 
object— I then knew not what— there came run- 
ning to my cabin door, where I sat as you find 
me today, a lovely fawn. I knew then that those 
shots had been meant for the destruction of its 
innocent life. The harmless, panting creature 
fell exhausted before me and coming cautiously 
nearer crouched between my feet. Then looking 
beseechingly into my face it begged me for pro- 
tection. For that creature I would have fought 
to the laying down of my own life. 

“Yes, sir, these creatures are my friends. I 
sometimes call them my brothers in fur, in 
feather and in fin. It’s love, more than blood, 
that makes brotherhood.” 

The old man spoke with feeling. There was 
evidently something behind his words that had 
shaped his life history. He had not revealed all. 

“Yes,” he continued, “the animals respond 
to loving treatment, often more promptly than 
does humankind, with its jealousies, its strifes 
and burning hatreds. Turning through the 
pages of the blessed Book, which a traveling 
dispenser of the Word left me— God bless him! 
—I stumbled upon these words : 

“ ‘In famine he shall redeem thee from death 
and in war from the power of the sword. Thou 
shalt be hid from the scourge of the tongue; 
neither shalt thou be afraid of destruction when 
it cometh. At destruction and famine thou shalt 
laugh ; neither shalt thou be afraid of the beasts 


301 


The Old Man of the Woods . 

of tHe earth, for thou shalt he in league with the 
stones of the field, and the beasts of the field 
shall be at peace with thee ; and thou shalt know 
that thy tabernacle shall be in peace. ’ 

“ There was a time, young man, when I was 
forbidden to read the Bible. It was a sealed 
book, intended, I was told, only for the learned 
and the priests. The common man could not 
understand it, and might read it to his own de- 
struction. But I tell you, my youthful friend, 
the Book found me, away out in this lonely spot, 
and has given me many a blessed moment. It 
has brought me new thoughts of God and his 
ways in this glorious world. I say again, ‘God 
bless the colporter,’ who discovered me in this 
remote nook, as you have today. The grass- 
hopper has ceased to be a burden, and I am 
blessed.” 

“Have you been in this place long?” Paul 
ventured to ask. 

“I was a soldier in the Civil War. I’ve seen 
blood enough in my day. It’s all wrong sir. 
Men were not made to kill and butcher, but to 
be brothers. Do we not read of the time when 



302 


Paul Judson . 


men are to learn war no more; when the gar- 
ments rolled in blood ‘ shall be with burning and 
fuel of fire ; ’ when ‘the wolf shall dwell with 
the lamb and the leopard lie down with the kid ; 
the calf and young lion and the fatling together 
— and a little child shall lead them?’ I had a 
wife and little one who died during the frightful 
civil strife. They died, sir, from neglect and 
grief. ’ ’ 

The old man’s gray locks shook as they fell 
about his shoulders ; and tears welled up from 
their fountains. 

“I thought I could live a sincerer, simpler life 
nearer to the heart of things. I withdrew to 
this hollow in the hills where for forty years 
and more 

“ ‘ Every little common flower that grew 
Interpreted to me an unknown tongue, 

Or seemed a fairy bell that late had rung 

Its silver peal across the morning dew; 

When skies are tapestries of living blue 
And stars a mesh of jewels overhung.’ 

“When the joy of springtime comes again and 
earth puts on her festal robes ; when the birds 
are calling to their mates ; when flowers awake 
from their winter sleep, and making their morn- 
ing toilet, sprinkle the earth with their sweet 
perfume; when blossoms give their place to 
fruits and even the droning beetle adds his note 
to summer’s happy, lengthening days; when 
nature clothes herself in gold and scarlet, and 
the dirge-like wind with melancholy cadence 


The Old Man of the Woods. 


308 


whistles its prophecies of approaching storms ; 
when in the solemn days the old year wraps it- 
self in a spotless shroud, and falls asleep— all 
these changing seasons are happy hours to me. 
Day and night do I feel the exhilaration of 
Heaven ’s own beauty. For when the firmament 
above me is studed with diamonds, and the val- 
leys are wrapt in slumber ; when those age-long 
sentinels, the tall mountain peaks are solemn 
with the shadows of spectral pines, and silent 
also, till some errant breeze makes of their 
caverns nature’s whispering gallery— then, too, 
I behold God’s glory in his handiwork, and be- 
holding, sing his praise.” 

The aged recluse grew eloquent as he revealed 
his ardent love for all that God had made. 

“ When I put off the blue uniform,” continued 
the old man, ‘ ‘ I was sick of carnage. I had seen 
the richest blood of this great land poured out 
to fertilize the soil on many a battlefield. One 
day I saw a gallant soldier in gray rushing 
boldly on, as though unconscious of his danger 
far ahead of his comrades, to take our works. I 
singled him out with my rifle. I saw him fall, 
pierced through the heart. ‘My God!’ said I, 
‘I’ve made some wife as fair, may be, as my 
own, a widow ; some sweet child, fatherless. God 
forgive this cruel war!’ Never before had I 
realized so vividly what war meant. 

“I resolved when discharged at Appomattox 
never again, God helping me, to lift a firearm 


304 


Paul Judson. 


’gainst man or beast. I traveled all over this 
wide, wide world, restlessly seeking my fortune 
before I discovered that a man must find his 
treasure within himself if he would find it. 

< ‘ 1 went to Palestine, as to some distant Mec- 
ca, that I might better know the Great Nazarene 
and catch inspiration from the paths the Prince 
of Peace had trod— he whose discerning eye 
marked the sparrow’s fall and perceived the 
chaste beauty of the lily’s bloom. At last I came 
to this spot that is now my home. And while 
I’ve had communion with him who made this 
beauteous earth, I know I’ve missed the true 
life, after all. The Nazarene went about doing 
good, the Book says, and in my effort to live a 
life near to nature’s heart, free from the hatred, 
artifice and sham of the seething, selfish world, 
I, too, have groveled and been selfish. It is 
too late now, but were I no older than you, my 
youthful friend, I’d not love nature, peace and 
truth the less, but humanity more. I’d throw 
myself into the turbid stream of human life and 
try to turn its current into nobler, purer chan- 
nels. 

“ I was brought up within the bosom of that 
which claims to be the mother church. But as I 
grew to manhood and saw the empty forms that 
some men called religion and felt the grip of 
an ungracious, godless priest upon me, my heart 
rebelled. I looked for a worship more vital, 
more satisfying to my soul. I longed for the 


The Old Man of the Woods. 


305 


freedom of the real Christ, and so I shook away 
from me the shackels of priests and prelates, 
and sought God for myself. I know now that in 
my love for freedom, I might have found a bet- 
ter way, might have discovered it in fellowship 
with other earnest souls; men and women to 
whom the need for the religion of a vital faith 
is as real at it seemed to me. 

1 * Young man,” said the recluse, turning 
preacher, “go out into the world with a simple 
faith in a living God ; follow a living Christ, not 
one entombed. Let him not be to you as one 
embalmed in the holy emblems— but a living, 
moving, victorious Redeemer. 

“ 1 Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born, 

If he be not born in thee thou art forlorn.’ 

‘ ‘ Throw yourself into the great stream of life. 
Help purify the current at the fountain, in the 
name of God and humankind. Strike a blow for 
a redeemed society. I have lost my chance . 9 9 

Paul sat amazed as the old man talked so 
pointedly and so earnestly. He saw the tears 
well up and roll down the withered cheek 
as the words were spoken: “I have lost my 
chance.” 

“He might have been an orator, or a poet, or 
it may be a preacher if he had only turned his 
life that way,” mused Paul. 

“I could tell you something of my own short 
life,” said he to his new-made friend. “But I 
am sad to-day, and the shadows remind me I 


306 


Paul Judson. 


must retrace my steps. Farewell, sir. I shall 
always remember this unexpected visit to your 
cottage door.” 

4 ‘Stay and take a bite of food with me and 
quaff again a cup of nature’s own brewing, for 
you have walked far, and will be faint before 
you reach your home again. ’ 9 

A simple lunch of nuts that had come over, 
from the autumn, and of early berries gathered 
when the dew was still fresh upon them, made 
a repast as inviting as it was simple. A good 
warm hand-shake, and Paul turned his back on 
the cabin, making his way through the rough 
paths, thanking God for the visit he had had 
with the old man of the woods. For on the one 
hand he had learned a lesson of calmness, and 
on the other, had felt the force of that truth 
which the old man had discovered, alas, too late 
that 

“ Rest is not quitting the busy career,” 

but rather the finding of one’s place in the midst 
of busy men, and there living a life of loving 
service; that an honest effort to correct the 
wrongs that afflict humanity, and to make the 
earth a truer and sweeter abode for a redeemed 
society is worth more to the world than many 
huts in the wilderness. 

The young graduate of Marton never forgot 
the sermon of the old man of the woods. 



XXIV. 

THE GATHERING CLOUDS. 

“I heard Mr. Dodson preach yesterday / 9 

1 ‘ Indeed? Have you heard Old Thunder- 
bolt !” 

i 4 That ’s the name the boys give him, I believe. 
Yes, I’ve heard him. He is a forceful preacher, 
and so sure that he can not be wrong in any- 
thing/ ’ 

These words of Miss Bacon were addressed 
to Paul Judson, as they sat together in the par- 
lor of the Ann Hasseltine Hall, the woman’s 
building of Marton College. Miss Bacon was 
among the few who had not left Wilton for the 
summer vacation. Paul, therefore, found her 
companionship specially attractive to him. 
Though it must be confessed he needed no 
special reason for enjoying Miss Bacon ’s com- 
pany, other than Miss Bacon herself. 

307 



310 


Paul Judson. 


point. When a people embrace the truth the 
name by which they are called is of small 
moment. We are not today worse off than in 
New Testament times, when Christians were 
called ‘disciples,’ and ‘the Way,’ ‘Sect of the 
Nazarene,’ as well as Christians. Their Jewish 
enemies called them Nazarenes, their Gentile 
enemies named them Christians, the Bible 
writers called them disciples, the saints , the 
Way.” 

“So it is scriptural to have many names,” re- 
marked the young lady. 

“Miss Bacon, your talk on this subject re- 
minds me of an old woman who wished to give 
her infant a Scripture name, so she called him 
Beelzebub. ’ ’ 

“Beelzebub is surely scriptural in name, but 
as I understand it, his character was far from 
scriptural. I find that you see my point— that it 
is far more important to have a scriptural 
church than a scriptural name. ’ 9 

“But,” asked Paul, “isn’t it better still to 
have both a scriptural doctrine and scriptural 
name f ’ ’ 

“To that I agree,” replied Miss Bacon, “but 
it seems to me there is sometimes more stress 
laid upon the name than the matter deserves. 
Sometimes it looks as if this stress on a name 
is to divert attention from weakness elsewhere. 
Sometimes, I say. Names will take care of 
themselves when that for which they stand be- 


The Gathering Clouds . 311 

comes no longer a matter of concern. When it 
comes to pass that no truth is involved then 
there will be time for discussing names, and 
not before.” 

“But, Miss Bacon, let’s change the subject.” 

“No, Mr. Judson, while we are upon this mat- 
ter, I wish to ask a question about those whq 
would be Christians only. We have them in 
Australia, just as you have them in America. 
And I noticed on last Sunday that Mr. Dodson 
made a remark which put him more in line with 
his people in Australia than those in this coun- 
try.” 

“What was that, Miss Bacon?” 

“When the time came for the spreading of 
the Lord’s table, the preacher declared that he 
could have no patience with those of his people 
who invited everybody, whether baptized or 
unbaptized, to the table of the Lord, on the 
ground that everybody is to he his own judge 
of fitness. ‘The Scriptures,’ said he, ‘are un- 
mistakable in putting the duty of baptism first. 
When the Scriptures speak we must speak. Of 
all the people in the world,’ he declared, with 
emphasis, ‘we who believe that no one has any 
promise or any assurance of forgiven sins, nor 
privileges in Christ’s kingdom, until he has been 
baptized— we of all others should set ourselves 
against inviting the unbaptized to this sacred 
privilege, which speaks not only of forgiven 
sins but intimate fellowship in Christ’s death. 


312 


Paul Judson. 


We cannot afford to preach one doctrine from 
the pulpit and another at the Lord’s table. If 
we would he consistent we must either cease to 
invite the unbaptized to commune, or else cease 
to teach that only baptized persons can have 
Christian experience and fellowship with 
Christ.’ 

“In Australia,” added Miss Bacon, “the Dis- 
ciples are close-communionists, and this, it 
seems to me, as Mr. Dodson said, is the logic of 
their position. For they hold that a man does 
not come into that saving relation with Christ 
typified by the Supper till he has been bap- 
tized.” 

“Miss Bacon, I’ve had so much theology 
lately that I wish to change the subject. Will 
you let me?” 

“Why, Mr. Judson, I’m surprised to hear you 
talk in that way! You used to be so deeply in- 
terested in all such questions. In fact, it was 
you, more than any one else, who first gave me 
special interest in religious matters. ’ ’ 

“Miss Bacon, I’ve had during the last few 
days— months, I may say— so many things to 
disturb my mind and even to harden my heart, I 
fear, that I’ve lately had little comfort from my 
religion. It was for this reason, Miss Pauline, 
that I came today, to tell you of my struggles. 
I think you can help me. If you cannot, I shall 
at least feel that another heart has shared my 
troubles. This will in itself be some comfort. ’ ’ 


The Gathering Clouds . 313 

“How delighted I should be to assist you in 
any way in my power / 9 replied Miss Bacon, as 
she leaned forward, her beaming eyes looking 
straight, but sympathetically, into Paul’s. 

“I am anxious to decide what I should do in 
life. Many of my friends once said that I ought 
to become a preacher; hut it does seem to me 
the world needs men who are not preachers 
quite as much as those who are.” 

“You are quite right about that. The world 
needs great statesmen and Christian men of 
affairs.” 

‘ ‘ I shall not weary you with all my cares ; I 
have no right to do that. But to make my story 
brief— I have been greatly disappointed in not 
securing the position I had looked for with the 
law publishing house. I was badly treated. Be- 
sides, there are other things that trouble me. 
I felt I must push my course in college to com- 
pletion. My dear old mother, back in the moun- 
tains, has made every sacrifice for me. Unless 
I can get out and earn something, the house 
must be sold over her head. My brother is 
somewhere upon the sea. The last we heard of 
him, he had secured a position upon a ship en- 
gaged in a three-years ’ cruise in eastern waters. 
Mother’s heart is struggling hard to be brave, 
but I am sure that in her loneliness she some- 
times finds her heart almost on the verge of 
breaking. Mr. Whittaker, who was once so 
good a friend to me, seems now to be restless 


314 


Paul Judson. 


and has asked for the loan he made me, taking 
a mortgage on our little home. He seemed a 
few years ago so tender and true a Christian 
man, but now his eagerness to call in the loan 
seems harsh. It’s true we did not meet the last 
interest promptly. I have explained to him my 
financial disappointments and begged him to 
give me a little time to get out and do something 
that will be profitable. He has a business right 
to protect his loan, and so I do not wish to reflect 
too hard upon him. It is his money and he shall 
have the last dollar and interest. 

“You know, Miss Bacon/ ’ continued Paul, as 
a huge tear welled up, * 1 that I have no influence 
that can be used to push me on in the world. 
Mr. Holden, Mr. Gates, Dr. Gaston and others 
have been kind to me. I know I have no claim 
upon Mr. Whittaker, especially since I felt it 
my duty to leave his church, and the Sunday 
school of which he is superintendent. And yet, 
I am sure, that when I once get a start in the 
world, I shall be able to make my way without 
asking favors of any man. All I wish is an op- 
portunity, and if I fail, it is then my own fault. 
I shall not, I will not, fail. If opportunity does 
not come, I will make an opportunity.’ ’ 

The keen and sympathetic discernment of 
Miss Bacon at once enabled her to see that a 
great change was coming over Paul’s spirit. 
There was something behind what he said that 
was more serious than the words actually 


The Gathering Clouds, 


315 


spoken. Paul had been naturally, as well as 
by education, optimistic. His spirit now was 
seriously overcast with a tinge of disappoint- 
ment that was ominous. When one begins to 
lose confidence in men, it is but another step 
to lose faith in God— especially if the men con- 
cerned have been known in the world as repre- 
sentatives of his cause. There is often a very 
short step from bright hopes to gloomy fore- 
bodings; and but another brief passing from 
these to discouragement and despair, or to hard- 
ness of heart and recklessness. 

If Paul ever needed a friend, it was now. 
He turned to Miss Bacon as one to whom he 
could disclose his heart; and as he at least 
hoped, secure in return the sympathy of her 
strong and responsive nature. 

The truth is, the young man loved Pauline 
Bacon. The fascination of her presence, the 
compelling loveliness of her form, were sincere 
presentments of her beauty of character and 
warmth of soul. All who came in contact with 
her yielded to her gracious charm. But over 
Paul Judson she had won an exceptional vic- 
tory. 

Let it also he said that Miss Bacon had come 
to have the highest admiration for Paul, whom 
she knew as a brilliant senior ; one who had con- 
quered every task; a young man strong and 
handsome in person, keen and able in intellect, 
and, withal, of noble, generous character. The 


316 


Paul Judson. 


fondness of both for music had increased their 
mutual friendship, and many an hour had they 
joined their voices in happy song; the sweet 
soprano and the rich baritone blending in de- 
lightful harmony. 

Miss Bacon felt sympathetically the pressure 
that was upon Paul’s heart. For disappoint- 
ments never seem to come singly, but in bat- 
talions. Sitting down at the piano she began 
to play and sing in happy mood, ‘ ‘ If a body meet 
a body coming through the rye. ’ ’ 

“Miss Bacon,” said Paul, as she finished the 
song, “sing again, for I like the old songs best. 
Sing ‘The heart bowed down.’ ” 

Miss Bacon began in her clear, sweet voice : 

“ The heart bowed down by weight of woe 
To weakest hopes will cling, ” 

and presently Paul joined his rich voice, mani- 
festly surcharged with emotion. 

“Oh, that’s too sad a song,” said the young 
woman, as she suddenly broke off and turned 
quickly upon the revolving stool. 

“Well, Miss Pauline, sing “Then you’ll re- 
member me,’ ” replied Paul, when he had re- 
gained his composure. 

The familiar words rang out in choicest 
melody from Miss Bacon’s lips : 

“When other lips and other hearts 
Their tales of love shall tell 
In language whose excess imparts 
The power they feel so well.” > . 


31T 


The Gathering Clouds . 

Then came “ Bobin Adair.’ ’ And as the voices 
of the two blended in song, their hearts seemed 
to meet and flow together in fondest unison. 

“Yet him I love 90 well, 

Still in my heart shall dwell 
Robin Adair!” 

“Miss Pauline,” Paul ventured, as the song 
was concluded, “your singing has been a bene- 
diction. Indeed, you have always been so help- 
ful, so inspiring to me, that I must tell you so* 
Will you think me a flatterer, ’ ’ said Paul, as he 
grew bolder, “if I say that the greatest loss I 
shall feel in leaving Wilton is that I shall leave 
you behind.” 

“But we shall meet again,” replied the young 
woman, with earnestness. 

“I trust it may be so, for I shall miss you 
more than you know. In truth, Miss Bacon, I 
should be playing false to my feelings did I not 
tell you that you have become necessary to my 
life.” 

1 ‘ Oh, I presume you will soon forget that you 
ever knew me.” 

4 1 Pauline, I love you ! I know that I am un- 
worthy of your affections. Up to this moment 
I have achieved nothing in life that gives me any 
right to expect you to reciprocate my poor, but 
unstinted, love.” 

“I shall remember you, Paul, and the pleas- 
ant moments we have spent together at Wilton. 
My best wishes will follow you in your life 


318 Paul Judson. 

Struggles. You will win your spurs quickly, I 
jim sure.” 

“Miss Pauline, you will be the one I shall 
wish first to share in the glory of my successes.” 

“Go, forget me, Paul, but fight bravely life’s 
battles. The clouds which now hover over you 
will soon lift; the sun will yet shine for you. 
But above all, trust strongly in him of whom 
we’ve often talked in the silence of the evening. 
You will not leave him out. What if the way 
seems uncertain, and some of your friends have 
grown cold? You cannot afford to let go your 
faith in truth, in goodness and in God. ’ ’ 

Paul stood for a moment and looked down, as 
if deeply impressed. The thought that he was 
losing his childhood faith came almost as a 
shock to himself, as he contemplated it. Miss 
Bacon had read his heart and appreciated with 
earnest sympathy his deepest needs. Then 
looking up, his eyes met hers squarely ; and into 
the eyes of each the silent, unbidden tear had 
stolen. 

“Miss Bacon,” said Paul, “may you be kept 
by the God I learned to love at my mother’s 
knee, but whose face seems further from me 
now than once it did. I used to stand out under 
the silent heavens, and feel I could almost touch 
the stars with the tips of my fingers, so near to 
earth did they seem in my childish thoughts. 
But today I stand and look up toward the same 
heavens and how far off they appear to me. 


319 


The Gathering Clouds . 

God forgive, if now my childhood faith is slip- 
ping from me, and God seems silent, indifferent, 
distant. ’ 9 

‘ 4 Paul, near my childhood horn* on the shores 
of old England, I have stood upon the beach 
when the tide of the throbbing sea was full. As 
I built my houses in the sand the sea receded, 
as if kissing the beach a final farewell with its 
gently murmuring lips. Will the tide come back 
again? Only wait; and presently the white- 
crested waves, like hooded friars, come march- 
ing restlessly back, as penitents to the altar, and 
it is high tide again! Light will shine for you, 
Paul, as it once did. God is not dead. Behind 
the clouds the sun is shining. Let me entreat 
you, believe your beliefs, and doubt your 
doubts .’ 9 

But it was growing late. Paul grasped Miss 
Bacon’s hand warmly. 

“I shall see you again, Pauline,” and he gave 
her hand another pressure that bespoke the 
feelings of his heart. 

4 ‘May it be so. Heaven’s blessings on you,” 
replied Miss Bacon, with fervor. 

The young woman stood for a moment in the 
doorway. In another moment Paul was lost to 
her view. She slowly returned to the parlor, 
where she sank upon the arm of a large chair, 
and with bowed head communed with her heart. 

The change that had come over Paul’s life 
was not in truth so sudden as it seemed. His 


320 Paul Judson. 

senior year had been most trying upon both 
body and spirit. 

Ambitious to excel, he had studied constantly. 
Having secured a real taste for knowledge, his 
hunger grew by what it fed on. He read widely, 
devouring with zest almost everything he could 
lay his hands upon. He had not learned the 
wisdom of Lord Bacon that some books are only 
to be tasted, while others are to be chewed and 
digested. After years of wanted opportunity, 
the young man had reveled in books and read- 
ing, like a child with a new-found toy. Natur- 
ally some books fell into his hands which were 
unwholesome, tending to unsettle his convic- 
tions and destroy his faith. Paul had observed 
this tendency to lose his bearings, and tried to 
believe all the stronger and keep the form of 
sound words, even after he was conscious that 
a weakening of his faith had begun to show 
itself. 

Then came the disappointments he had suf- 
fered with regard to men in whose promises he 
had trusted, and the apparent lack of oppor^ 
tunity to make his way in the world. His early 
dreams of success appeared for the time to fall 
stillborn at his feet as soon as he had secured 
an education. Were his ideals but a hopeless 
phantom of youthful imagination, a disappoint- 
ing will-o’-the-wisp, which fled before him as 
he followed? 

Thus, did Doubt and Debt, two bold high- 


The Gathering Clouds . 


321 


waymen, stalk with brazen heel through the 
young man’s soul, crushing peace and happi- 
ness under their feet, at the very time when he 
had dreamed he would be standing upon the 
threshold of life’s noblest achievement. The 
bright visions of comfort and even luxury which 
were to be given the dear woman he had left at 
Hawk’s Nest now seemed like dissolving views 
in the stereopticon of life; and in their place 
came dark pictures of debt and ruin; the sale 
of the little home, and the fondest mother in 
the world left with no roof over her defenseless 
head. 



FACING THE STORM. 



X tempest lay hard upon the range 
of the Cumherlands. In this land of 
JP - the mountain crest, where earth and sky 
^ * live most of the year in such friendly 

* - intercourse, a storm is like a family 
quarrel, severe, indeed. This day it seemed 
more vigorous than usual. Lightning leaped 
from peak to peak as if enjoying to the full the 
battle royal. Nature’s zig-zag javelins were 
flying fast about the heads of the mountains, 
and heaven’s weightiest artillery rolled its 
heavy wheels and hurled its deep-toned ex- 
plosives through the sky. The soft-breathing 
zephyrs of the morning had been aroused and 
drawn into the fray, and now the winds were 
rushing with a fury that tore from their sockets 
long arms of sturdy oaks and scattered them in 
the valleys. Loose rocks were lifted from their 
322 


facing the Storm. 


323 



long resting places and rolled down the steep 
mountain sides ; tearing the undergrowth away 
in their mad rush to the plain. 

Paul Judson had said goodbye to Pauline 
Bacon, and started out for one of his long walks 
in solitude. Pauline was to leave Wilton that 
afternoon. It was when the young man, now 
far out into the mountains, had just decided to 
retrace his steps, and return to the village that 
the storm broke. Never did a tempest strike 
more suddenly. Little rain had as yet fallen. 
But a heavy pall of clouds overcast the sky, as 
if to shut out heaven’s glances from so hostile 
a scene, or else to stand ready to pour a flood 
of chilly waters upon the hot contestants, and 
cool the ardor of the fray. 

Paul loved a storm. As a child at Hawk’s 
Nest when others would creep into a corner or 
crouch tremblingly within the house at the rum- 
bling of the thunder, he himself would go out 
of doors and looking upward face the blasts, 
delighting in the raging elements. So now he 
stood as the storm howled about him, and caught 
inspiration from the powers of Nature in their 
highest animation. Like the great composer, 
Ludwig Beethoven, who even when an old man, 


su 


Paul Judson . 


would rush out with bared head to greet a storm, 
his long white hair streaming in the wind and 
his face turned heavenward, here to catch some 
of his noblest symphonies— sweetness and 
grandeur— out of storm and stress; so Paul 
saw in the rush and roar a flash of light that was 
not in the storm. !A. silent prophecy passed over 
his soul, that peace might yet be born out of 
struggle. 

Betracing his steps, Paul reached Wilton, and 
to his great joy found a letter awaiting him 
directed in a familiar hand. It was that of 
Steve Calder. 

“My Dear Paul: 

“Father wishes a young man in his law office 
to assist him, and to read law. I have recom- 
mended you. If you haven’t decided to go else- 
where, make ready to come at once. Father 
will write you more fully by next mail. Your 
chum, Steve.” 

Judge Calder, father of Stephen, was a suc- 
cessful practitioner, who had grown up with the 
town in which he lived. Being one of the earliest 
and most progressive of its citizens, he had be- 
come rich by judicious investment of money 
earned in a lucrative practice of his profession. 
Because of his legal standing, he was called 
Judge by courtesy, though he had never been 
elevated to the bench, except in special cases. 
The Judge was known far and wide for his learn- 
ing in law. Especially in criminal cases was he 


Facing the Storm. 325 

regarded as without a superior in all that re- 
gion. 

Paul was glad of an opening that promised 
an honorable living ; for although his religious 
faith seemed for the time in sad eclipse, his 
sense of honor was still unimpaired. The letter 
came from the Judge. The amount of salary 
could not he regarded as a fortune, nor even the 
prophecy of one, yet it was a beginning, and 
Paul hoped that by strict economy, to which he 
had never yet been a stranger, he might put by 
a little each month to pay his debts. 

In less than two days after Stephen’s letter 
reached Wilton, Paul had brought his scant 
effects to the growing town of Compton and was 
ready to turn his great energy into the new po- 
sition with the Honorable Harlan Calder and 
his partner, Mr. Henry Byrd. 

The Colonel was a rotund old gentleman, 
with jovial countenance when in repose. His 
round, clean-shaven and ruddy face was well 
known in all that region. In his office, he wa3 
“strictly business.” Some thought him brusque, 
and even harsh at times. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” “Good day, 
sir.” 

The Colonel allowed no loafers to consume 
his precious time; but knew how to bow out, 
with courteous quickness, those who had no 
laudable purpose within the precincts of his law 
sanctum. Looking over his glasses, he very] 


326 


Paul Judson. 


quietly took in the visitor, and perceived 
whether or not the one before him had business 
worthy of his attention. Otherwise,' he was 
classed as an intruder upon the attorney’s busy 
life, and so the Colonel lost no time in getting rid 
of him. 

Before a jury Hiram Calder was regarded 
as invincible. He was a fighter; and his client 
knew that he would never surrender till the 
last lawful expedient was resorted to. And yet 
Colonel Calder never stooped to the low tricks 
of the shyster. Pettifogging was not in his 
trade. M/Tien there was anything mean to be 
done, Hiram Calder was not asked to take part. 
All men knew that the firm of Calder & Byrd 
stood for what was honorable in the conduct of 
their profession ; and that a suggestion that they 
he party to trickery or fraud would he resented 
as an insult. 

In his home life, the Colonel lived as a lord; 
not extravagantly, but comfortably, and his will 
was always the law. This was not so much ex- 
acted by the Colonel as accorded freely to him. 
Mrs. Calder was a diminutive body, amiable 
almost to a fault— without those sterner quali- 
ties which made her husband so positive a force 
in the community. Her sole aim seemed to be 
to please the Colonel, and so to steer the domes- 
tic affairs of their well-appointed home as 
that its inmates might be contented and happy. 
Stephen and Grace, their two children, both 


Facing the Storm . 327 

grown, were given every reasonable comfort. 
Some thought Steve too much petted. He was 
like his mother; while Grace, tall, handsome, 
strong, inherited the qualities of the aggressive 
Colonel. The home life of the Calder family 
was sweet and engaging. The young people for 
miles around regarded it a great pleasure when- 
ever the Calders threw open their home to some 
innocent gayety. But the Colonel could not en- 
dure “ light-headed frivolity,” as he called it. 
Cards he considered as bordering too near to 
the gambler’s table to be encouraged, and danc- 
ing, he said, was 1 ‘ moving in slippery places.” 
And while Judge Calder was not an officer in the 
church, he was its loyal supporter; a man of 
deep religious convictions, and lived consist- 
ently with his faith. 

‘ 4 Mother,” said he to Mrs. Calder one day, 
“that young man Steve recommended to us, 
Paul Judson, is a treasure. He takes hold al- 
most like a veteran. The young fellow has 
gumption. I had him looking up some cases to- 
day, and he went for them with a quickness and 
appreciation that I could not have expected in 
one with so little experience. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Paul ’s all right , ’ 9 said Stephen. “We might 
invite him around to take a meal with us occa- 
sionally,” suggested the Colonel. 

‘ ‘ He certainly has a fine face, even if his cloth- 
ing is a little coarse,” remarked Grace. 

“There’s nothing coarse about the young 


328 


Pcrnl Judson, 


man himself, I warrant you. I never knew a 
more perfect gentleman.” 

“ Bring him around some time, papa,” sug- 
gested the daughter. 

Paul had secured room and breakfast with a 
reputable widow in Compton, and the other two 
meals— well, he secured those the best he could. 
Sometimes he would fare upon cold sandwiches 
from the lunch counters; sometimes he would 
carry to his room cold victuals from the grocery. 
How to make the small salary of an office help 
to a law firm meet the demands of hunger and 
of decent living was Paul’s daily problem. 
Often with quiet merriment he would calculate 
with comical precision the question: Given a 
certain appetite; at which of the several lunch 
counters he could procure the best satisfaction 
on the least outlay? Thus did Paul Judson fight 
his way through poverty to future power. He 
did not starve, he did not condescend to the 
base. He labored, sacrificed and often suffered, 
never failing to send home at least a part of his 
hard-earned wealth to his mother to meet her 
needs and wear away by degrees the debt of 
college days. 

It was no longer a matter of doubt— Paul 
would be a lawyer. Step by step he had been 
led that way. There were the mother’s hopes 
and prayers. Mrs. Judson had always said, 
even before her two boys were well out of 
frocks, that Paul was to be her lawyer and 


329 


Facing the Storm. 

Marcus her preacher. Why she so reckoned, 
no one knew ; for everybody else thought differ- 
ently. Paul’s strong religious nature, and 
steady-going ways seemed to mark him out as 
the minister ; while the unsteady, roving dispo- 
sition of Marcus pointed, apparently, to almost 
any other calling than that of the preacher. But 
the reason why a woman believes this or that, 
especially a mother concerning her boys, is 
never quite explicable upon either logical or 
scientific grounds. Mrs. Judson had her ideas, 
formed when the hoys were playing about hei 
knees, and so far at least as Paul was concerned, 
those notions proved correct. Paul decided tc 
give himself to the law. 




XXVI. 


COMMONWEALTH VS. CARLTON. 

Three years of apprenticeship with the dis- 
tinguished firm of Calder & Byrd gave Paul 
rich opportunities not only to study the princi- 
ples and the forms of law, hut to hear many 
great speeches before the jury. For whenever 
it was known that Calder & Byrd were to appear 
for one side, the other knew quite well that the 
best talent must also be secured for their cause, 
or the day was lost. 

Once when both principals in the firm were 
engaged in a notable legal battle before the Su- 
preme Court in Frankfort, Paul was given the 
opportunity to show his skill in the conduct of 
a cause, by appearing for the firm in a case 
which had created much local interest. Indeed, 
in minor cases, he had already won his spurs. 
The case was “The Commonwealth against Bud 
Carlton .’ 9 


33 ° 


Commonwealth vs. Carlton. 


331 


Bud was a well-known figure in Jayson 
county, a farmer of integrity, but one who ex- 
pressed himself on all occasions. He seldom 
failed to have a rough and ready opinion upon 
every question that agitated the community in 
which he lived— and there were many such ques- 
tions, for the community was nearly always 
agitated over one case or another. 

But it should be said in justice to Bud Carl- 
ton, he was nearly always on the right side. 
He had made himself very unpopular, for he 
spoke out what was in his mind, even though 
he knew his nearest neighbor was interested iri 
the other side of the question. Bud stood in- 
dicted upon a charge of murder, much to the 
surprise of those who knew him best; much to 
the rejoicing of those who hated him most. 

On investigating the case carefully as one of 
the attorneys for the defense, Paul Judson came 
to the honest conclusion that there had been a 
deliberate conspiracy of enemies to blacken the 
name, and, if possible, to swear away the life 
of Bud Carlton. He had received threatening 
fetters suggesting that it would be safer for him 
to drop the defense, or allow the cause to be in- 
differently represented. But Paul was not to 
be thus frightened into a neglect of duty. On 
the contrary, he formed all the deeper resolution 
to see that full justice should be accorded his 
client, regardless of the consequences. 

That which made the cause the more difficult 


332 


Paul Judson. 


was that for years the machinery of the law, 
from judge to jailer, had been used to further 
partisan ambitions and to pay personal debts— 
debts of revenge for opposition on the one hand 
or reward of unrighteous fidelity on the other. 
It was a deplorable state of affairs; but there 
were few in all that country who cared enough 
about the humiliating condition in which the 
community found itself, to speak out, and so 
run the risk of being injured for his pains. The 
prudent kept silence, for it was an evil time. 

Would the young lawyer be equal to the 
emergency in the case of Commonwealth vs. 
Carlton? At first it was conjectured that since 
Calder and Byrd had turned the active work 
upon the case over to young Judson, no vigorous 
defense would be undertaken, but that Bud Carl- 
ton would reach the gallows in due time, 
whether guilty or innocent. The plot against 
Carlton’s life had been well planned. Circum- 
stantial evidence pointed strongly to him as the 
murderer of an unknown individual, supposed 
to be a tramp, whose body had been found in 
a clump of bushes near Carlton’s house. 

That there had been a foul murder no one 
doubted. That which connected Carlton with 
the crime was that the body was found not many 
paces from his gate, that a large knife, identi- 
fied as the property of Carlton, was found lyin£ 
near the body of the stranger, and that there 
were two witnesses who would testify that they 


Commonwealth vs. Carlton . 


333 


saw Bud Carlton stoop over the body, and then 
arising, throw down a knife and walk rapidly 
towards the house. Upon this evidence he had 
been arrested, indicted, and after two months* 
imprisonment was about to stand trial. 

It must be confessed, the prospects looked 
gloomy for the defense. Young Judson, being 
convinced after more and more careful study 
of the case, that the whole affair was an un- 
doubted conspiracy to ruin the good name of an 
innocent man, set himself diligently to the task 
of seeing that his client should have every hon- 
orable advantage the law and justice might ac- 
cord. 

First, he had the case removed to an adjoin- 
ing county. He was convinced that no jury in 
the home county would be bold enough to defy 
the powers of darkness which administered, or 
rather failed to administer, justice in that com- 
munity. Intimidation and fraud were certain 
unless the trial could be held elsewhere. Next,, 
the vigilant young attorney worked zealously 
in securing witnesses and eliciting from them 
what the jury ought to know. He was able to 
prove that the previous reputation of Bud Carl- 
ton was unimpeachable; that he was a man of 
peace, truthfulness and honor ; that there could 
have been absolutely no motive why his client 
should have slain the stranger. It was shown 
that the murder, if there had been murder com- 
mitted, was not perpetrated at the place where 


334 


Paul Judson. 


the body was found, for the blood marks upon 
the ground at that spot were so insignificant as 
to preclude that the fatal gash in the side had 
been made there. Moreover, witnesses testified 
to seeing a pool of blood near the railroad track 
on the same morning on which the crime was 
alleged to have been committed, almost three 
hundred yards distant from the scene. Paul 
had secured some of this blood, and procuring 
the services of an expert, had proven by the 
microscope that the blood was from the body of 
a human being, and from its appearance might 
easily have been from the body of a man killed 
about the time when the stranger must have 
been murdered. 

The shrewd young attorney also put in evi- 
dence the fact that two days before the finding 
of the body, the knife discovered nearby had 
been missed from the house of Bud Carlton; 
and that it must have been clandestinely taken 
from his home by some unknown hand. More- 
over, he was able to show beyond the probability 
of doubt that the wound which caused the death 
of the unfortunate man could not have been 
made with the particular knife in controversy. 
Besides, Bud himself testified that as he was 
going out to look after his stock on the morning 
in question, he saw in a clump of bushes the 
prostrate body; that on approaching he discov- 
ered a knife lying on the ground near the vic- 
tim ; that he had picked up the weapon, and had 


Commonwealth vs. Carlton. 


335 


thrown it down again and rushed to the house, 
thinking possibly some restorative might bring 
the man to consciousness. On his return, how- 
ever, he found that there was no hope, as the 
body was already growing cold and the rigor 
of death had set in. 

Further, Paul placed upon the stand wit- 
nesses who proved that those who were testify- 
ing against Carlton were men who had been 
known to dislike him, his outspoken criticism of 
them, and of the methods by which they and 
their associates had debauched the administra- 
tion of justice and terrorized the entire com- 
munity ; in fact, that they had been heard to an- 
nounce that they would get even with “that 
hypocritical scoundrel, Bud Carlton.” 

Paul made a magnificent presentation of his 
cause before the jury. Seldom in the history 
of the court, men said, had there been heard 
from the lips of any man, young or old, as elo- 
quent and convincing a plea. It was full of 
close-knit logic, of pathos and power; and at 
times the invective hurled against the wrong- 
doers was terrific. He boldly accused the con- 
spirators of having procured the murder of this 
unknown man as he was walking along the rail- 
way track ; had placed the warm, but wounded 
body upon the defendants premises and sta- 
tioned hired witnesses to watch to see what 
Carlton would do when he passed that way, as 
was known to be his custom every morning. 


836 


Paul Judson, 


The arraignment was unreserved, and the ar- 
gument convincing to every unprejudiced mind 
in the court room. PauPs storm-loving spirit 
was aroused and a strange expression came into 
his face. The speech swept the crowd like a 
cyclone. To every one who heard the young 
attorney it was evident that a legal star of un- 
usual brilliancy had swept above the horizon. 

“Gentlemen of the jury,” said the judge, 
after the twelve men reappeared, having been 
in their rqom for six hours, “are you ready 
with a verdict?” 

“No, your honor,” replied the foreman, “the 
jury fails to agree.” 

“The sheriff will lock the jury up till to- 
morrow morning; there should be no difficulty 
in reaching an agreement in this case. After 
a night’s rest you may be nearer to a decision.” 

The morrow came ; but the jury stood as be- 
fore ; ten for acquittal, two for conviction. The 
jury was discharged and poor Carlton sent back 
to jail till he could secure bail. 

Paul Judson determined that he would re- 
move the case to a still more remote section of 
the state, that the possibility of intimidation 
or bribery might be eliminated, which in the 

BBB9N 


Commonwealth vs. Carlton. 837 

first trial was very much more than suspected. 

Efforts against the conspirators were re- 
newed with more vigor than before. They real- 
ized that young Judson was determined to give 
them their deserts. They began to take fright 
and to fall out among themselves, before the 
second trial. It is said that “when thieves fall 
out honest men have their dues.” In this way, 
the prosecution fell hopelessly to the ground, 
and the entire fiendish plot to put Bud Carlton 
to a malicious death, under the very forms of 
law, met its disgraceful end. But the accused 
had suffered much anguish of body and mind, 
the peace and prosperity of home life broken up, 
and scarcely anything but honor left. 

It was now time for some one to lead in the 
destruction of the vicious gang which had ruled 
the county with a brazen hand for nearly a 
score of years. Public sentiment was never 
more favorable to strike a blow for freedom 
and public safety. All that was needed was a 
leader— a man of courage coupled with ability 
to cope with so adverse a situation. For all the 
officers of the court, and county officials almost 
without exception, were partisans of the hideous 
gang which infested the county ; and these were 
led by an able, wealthy, astute and unscrupulous 
man, who held the position of judge. 

Fortunately, the prosecuting attorney was a 
man of some conscience and of considerable 
ability. He proceeded at once to bring out in- 


338 


Paul Judson. 


dictments against the leading conspirators in 
the late case of Commonwealth versus Carlton. 
They were charged in one indictment with per- 
jury; in another, with conspiracy to destroy 
the life of an innocent citizen; and in a third, 
for complicity in the murder of the stranger 
whose body had been found on Carlton’s prem- 
ises. 

To whom could the community turn in the 
effort to find one to assist in these prosecutions 
but to Paul Judson, who had won for himself 
so enviable a reputation for courage and abil- 
ity in the recent battle for an innocent man. 
Indeed, the youthful attorney’s fame had spread 
throughout the entire state ; and the great met- 
ropolitan dailies were publishing his picture 
and loudly singing his praises. 

Attorney Judson, for the sake of right and 
the community which he had chosen as his home, 
consented to assist in the prosecution, and, if 
possible, wrest from the grasp of desperadoes 
the people’s right to liberty and the pursuit of 
happiness. 

It was a long and hard-fought battle, but 
decency at length triumphed. Some of the gang 
“ jumped” their bonds and ran away; some had 
already taken time by the forelock and fled to 
parts unknown; while a few of the ringleaders 
were safely landed behind prison bars for terms 
which could not fail to make an indelible im- 
pression upon their memories, and upon the 


Commonwealth vs. Carlton. 


339 


mind of the community as well. The whole 
country round about began to breathe more 
freely. Men and women who a few months be- 
fore did all their thinking behind closed doors, 
now heaved a sigh of relief, and Paul Judson’s 
praises were on the lips of all good citizens. It 
was recognized on every side that the young 
lawyer from Perry had done his country a dis- 
tinguished service. He had become instru- 
mental in punishing and routing as desperate a 
gang of villains as ever infested a civilized com- 
munity. 



XXVII. 


GIVING THE HEART A CHANCE. 

“I think that every young man ought to 
marry. Don’t you, mother? And do you not 
think I am old enough to venture upon that un- 
explored sea?” 

4 ‘ Paul, you are quite old enough. That I am 
f ^ee to say ; but age is not the only requirement 
for so serious an undertaking, my son. What 
makes you ask me such a question?” 

“WTiy, mother, every young man ought to 
consult his best friend before incurring what 
you yourself have just called a very ‘serious 
obligation,’ ought he not?” 

‘ ‘ That is a sound doctrine, my boy. But have 
you fixed your mind on somebody whom you 
would like to marry?” asked the old lady, 
with manifest interest, as she adjusted her 
glasses. 

“Mother, I’ve found the girl whom I love; 
and am sure she is a fine woman, capable of 
making a good wife for the man who is so 
happy as to win her.” 


340 


Giving the Heart a Chance. 


341 


“But are you sure you can get her!” in- 
quired Mrs. Judson. Now, she did not ask this 
question because for one moment she imagined 
that any wise girl could possibly reject her son 
in whose character and ability she had un- 
bounded faith; but she was anxious to know 
how far along the path of courtship her boy’s 
feet had already come, and this was her delicate 
way of learning more. 

“Get her, mother? Why no one knows what 
he can do until he has done his best. I love her 
devotedly and, I think that, maybe, possibly, 
perhaps, with a little persuasion she might he 
induced at least to listen to a proposal, and to 
learn to love me a little,” replied Paul, 
teasingly. 

After the terrific strain incident to the con- 
test with the criminal ring which had hut lately 
been unhorsed, Paul J udson had decided to take 
a short vacation. There were two women in the 
world whose faces he longed to look upon. One 
was that of the beloved saint of Hawk’s Nest; 
the other that of the woman from over the sea, 
who like a bright, particular star, had swung 
above the horizon of his vision, and for five 
years had held inexplicable sway over his 
soul. 

Miss Bacon had had many inducements to 
leave Wilton for positions in the East, places 
which seemed to open to her greater promise 
of reputation in her chosen field, but she had 


342 


Pcml Judson. 


chosen to remain at Wilton. Because of her 
force of character and diligent application she 
had risen from the position of assistant in 
physical culture and elocution to that of Dean in 
the Department of Women in Marton College, 

“Miss Bacon is a fine woman, Paul. Of that 
I have no shadow of doubt. When I saw her at 
your graduation I thought her one of the noblest 
women I ever met. But you must remember, 
Paul, she was brought up across the sea. How 
do you know she will be just the girl to suit 
you?” 

“But, mother, isn’t there an old saying that 
4 the heart hath reasons that only the heart can 
know?’ ” 

“You are both poor, my son.” 

“True, mother, we are. But we shall not 
always he poor, I hope.” 

“You have been struggling very hard for 
many months— yes, years, they have now grown 
to be— to pay off the debt which your schooling 
cost you; and you know there’s a balance still 
unpaid. ’ ’ 

This was, indeed, a sore spot in Paul’s 
memory. Debt had been his heritage from 
childhood, and though he had battled manfully 
he was not yet a complete victor. While he 
had been eminently successful in his study of 
law and in the early cases he had undertaken, it 
was only now that he could say that pecuniary 
success seemed within his reach. He had made 


Giving the Heart a Chance. 


343 


a reputation. The financial fruitage of it was 
yet to he gathered. 

“Well, mother, that balance will be paid soon. 
My practice next year should reach a sum equal 
to all the income of the last five years put to- 
gether.’ ’ 

“Paul, you’ve written me a good deal about 
Grace Calder. She’s good, and pretty, and 
practical, too, is she not?” 

“All these, mother. Miss Grace is an excep- 
tionally fine woman.” 

“And the influence and wealth of her family 
would at once give to the man who marries her 
a first-rate start in life,” suggested Mrs. Jud- 
son. 

“Yes, she’s rich in her own right. A wealthy 
uncle left her a snug little fortune. She has 
invested it wisely, and has added much to it 
already. They say she has been remarkably 
successful in her business ventures, and lately 
she has used her own judgment, too, in invest- 
ing.” 

‘ ‘ She must be above the ordinary, my son, and 
worthy of any young man’s admiration.” 

“She is, mother, and many have been her 
admirers. But she seems to elude them all 
in a fashion that puzzles even her best 
friends.” 

“I should think that such a woman would be 
easy to love, Paul.” 

“Easy? Why, mother, as easy as rolling off 


344 


Paul Juddon . 


a log— but I love another, if that’s what you 
mean. Pauline Bacon is the idol of my heart. 
I can love no other.” 

“In the words of the good Psalmist of old, 
your 4 heart is fixed,’ then, is it?” 

“My heart is fixed like flint, mother.” 

“Flint, my son? Isn’t that a very hard sub- 
stance, to use in such a connection?” 

“Now, mother, I didn’t say my heart is hard 
like flint, but it is as fixed as flint. ’ ’ 

“Don’t be too sure of it, Paul. The truest 
hearts will change sometimes.” 

“Mother, I am going to Wilton tomorrow. I 
am asked to deliver the address to the alumni 
of Marton. ’ ’ 

“That’s your reason for going?” 

“Don’t ask me, mother, my chief reason. Why 
should I say which is the first motive, the speech 
or the woman?” 

The question was not pressed. Whether Paul 
Judson went to Wilton to accept the invitation 
to speak and incidentally saw a woman or 
whether he went to Wilton to see a woman and 
incidentally said a word to his fellow alumni 
may be turned over to those who love academic 
questions. Paul Judson made a speech and saw 
a woman. 

The subject of his address was “Patriotism 
in Time of Peace. ’ ’ The audience hung breath- 
lessly upon his words, while he told them of the 
new patriotism which emphasized not the duty 


Giving the Heart a Chance . 


345 


of dying for one’s country, but the privilege of 
living for her ;* of the victories which peace has 
no less renowned than war. 

‘ ‘ Five years ago I stood upon this same plat- 
form and in my schoolboy fashion made a plea 
for the liberty of the soul. Boys take big sub- 
jects. To-day I come before you to plead, not 
for a patriotism which allows the country you 
love to fall in trouble and then lay down your life 
for her; but a patriotism always alive to its 
responsibilities for the public welfare ; a patri- 
otism which puts only the best men into office; 
which stands for the enactment of good laws 
and the enforcement of them ; a love of country 
that will not dodge the just tax, and thus throw 
unequal burdens upon the weak; a patriotism 
which would see the country prosper in all good 
things and be proud when the nation’s flag 
stands among the peoples of the world as an 
emblem for purity, progress and honor; a 
patriotism which would spurn to debauch the 
ballot, but would have it fall into the box as 
pure as the snowflakes, and in falling execute 

“ ‘The freeman’s will 

As lightning executes the will of God.’ 

For nobly did the Quaker poet say, 

“ ‘ Now lightly fall 

Beyond recall 

These written scrolls a breath can float : 

The crowning fact 

The kingliest act 

Of Freedom is the freeman’s vote.’ M 


346 


Paul Judson. 


The address was an eloquent plea for Chris- 
tian patriotism, as the only guarantee of poli- 
tical purity. 

Next morning was one of those unsurpassed 
days in June when all nature has turned 
painter, adding touches of loveliness to every- 
thing around. There were at least two persons 



in Wilton that morning whose passionate fond- 
ness for God’s great out-of-doors, rendered their 
hearts always ready to be enticed by nature’s 
irresistible charms into happy fellowship with 
her visible forms. Why should they not take 
their walk together today? For while dame 
Nature can speak in many tongues, she can also 
keep a secret in all of them, and is very sym- 
pathetic with one who in her presence whispers 
his tale of love. 

and bespangled with wild flowers, lay at their 
but once in five years, were strolling happily to- 
gether. The swiftly flowing Cumberland, whose 
banks had been richly adorned by leafy June, 
and bespangled with wild flowers, lay at their 
feet. 


347 


Giving the Heart a Chance. 

“UporTtKat jutting rock by the roadside,’ ’ 
said Paul, “I sat a decade ago, and wondered 
whether even when in sight of Wilton, I should 
go forward or retreat again to my mountain 
home. I call that rock my Gibraltar and this 
river my Eubicon. For here I captured the 
citadel of my own will, and there I crossed the 
stream which ran between my old world and my 
new. ’ ’ 

Paul had scarcely finished the sentence, when 
Pauline, catching his meaning, hastened to- 
ward the rock which he had pointed out, and 
seated herself playfully upon it. 

“Is there something magical about this huge 
boulder? I will take my seat upon it for the 
sake of its past,” said Miss Bacon, with a jovial 
laugh. 

“Something magical? There is something 
very bewitching about it noiv,” replied Paul, 
with a graceful wave of the hand, in the direc- 
tion of the young woman. 

“Bewitching? I’ve always heard that witches 
dwell in caves in the woods, not upon rocks by 
the roadside.” 

“Whether you be witch, nymph, spirit, gnome 
or naiad seated upon this rock— or a woman, 
just a woman, Pauline, I love you.” 

The words were spoken with a precision 
and firmness which showed they were not 
born of momentary passion, nor of a senti- 
ment that had come into being in a day and 


348 Paul Judson. 

might perish like an ephemeral gourd in a single 
night. 

“For five years I have loved you, Pauline. 
Every day from the time I left you to go out, 
I knew not where, I have thought of you and 
my heart has yearned for your love.” 

These words were spoken with an impas- 
sioned earnestness that could not be mistaken. 

Miss Bacon’s countenance changed. The 
light-hearted smile which played upon her face 
when she took her seat upon the stone, gave way 
to a more serious demeanor. 

“Why should you think of me, Paul, or love 
me 1 I am a stranger in your land. I am almost 



alone in the world. My early friends and loved 
ones are gone to the better country, or live far 
away.” 

“I am sure,” said Paul, “that had I the 
pleasure of knowing those whom you love, I 
should love them, too. But, Pauline, it is you, 
and you alone, I love. It is you, whom I would 
have with me sharing all my joys and sorrows 
‘till death us do part.’ ” 

“Oh, forget it, Paul. Think not of me. Look 
for an American girl ; look for an heiress.” 

“Pauline,” said the young man, as he looked 


Giving the Heart a Chance . 


349 


directly into her large, liquid blue eyes, “I have 
found the heiress— one whose fortune is her- 
self/ ’ 

“ Why should a struggling young man burden 
his early years with such a drawback, the pres- 
ence of a young woman with nothing to add to 
his wealth or his happiness ?” 

“You could add to both, Pauline. A man’s 
life consists not of the things he possesses. 
Wealth is not happiness. Happiness is wealth. 
And, Pauline, you are necessary to my happi- 
ness. Therefore, I would regard myself as 
wealthy with you at my side.” 

Arising from the rock, Pauline Bacon stood 
for a moment and looking into Paul’s face 
seemed to say, “We are not to linger here.” 
She glanced in the direction of the village. As 
by a common impulse they moved on. It was 
not along the roadway they went, but they fol- 
lowed the beautiful stream whose green banks 
breathed of the early summer’s freshness and 
profusion. The wild honeysuckle and sweet 
eglantine lent their color and fragrance to the 
romantic spot in which they found themselves. 

“How sweet the sound of the murmuring 
river,” suggested Pauline, whose heart was as 
sensitive to the touch of beauty, as a suspended 
lute to the whisper of a gentle zephyr, 

“And how my murmuring heart longs for 
some sympathetic answer to its plea of love,” 
replied Paul, who would call back the young 


350 


Paul Judson. 


woman’s mind from the stream that flowed at 
their feet, to the living spring of affection that 
was welling up in his heart of hearts. 

Seating herself under a tall, majestic tree 
that overlooked the river, a noble old elm whose 
boughs were reflected in the water below, Miss 
Bacon gazed into the stream. There she sat a 
perfect picture of feminine loveliness. Paul 
took his seat close beside her. 

Pauline Bacon, with all her physical beauty 
and luxuriance of spirit was never carried away 
by a storm of uncontrolled feeling. She sat per- 
fect mistress of her passions ; though her heart 
now seemed to beat faster than ever before, 
and a conscious glow found a place upon her 
cheeks as Paul poured out to her his unreserved 
affection. 

“Pauline, can you not love me even a little?” 
asked Paul, with deep emotion, as he gently 
caught her right hand in his, and again looked 
squarely into her bright, liquid eyes. 

“Love you, Paul? I have always had the 
highest admiration for you. But you have your 
way yet to make in the world, why should I add 
to your burdens?” 

4 4 Burdens ? Pauline, you may as well say the 
wings of a bird are a burden in its flight. You 
are the inspiration, the breath, the soul of my 
very existence.” 

He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. 

‘ ‘ Will you not love me, and be mine forever ? ’ 5 


Giving the Heart a Chance. 


351 


4 4 Some day I may love you, Paul. A woman 1 
may only be a hindrance to you in your present 
battle for place in the legal world. I think too 
highly of you to get for one moment in your way 
as you struggle toward the first rank in your 
profession.” 

4 4 With your help, Pauline, nothing can stand 
in my way toward preferment and success. 
Without you, I should feel myself forever td 
have failed, whatever else I may have achieved . ' ’ 
4 4 If fond wishes and devout prayers avail 
aught in the affairs of men, you shall succeed, 
My fervent prayers shall certainly follow you.” 
44 I can not leave you, Pauline.” 

4 4 Go, for the present, Paul. Some day” 

Here the young woman stopped. 

44 I will go then, if I must. But, Pauline, thy 
heart will go with me. ’ 1 
He again drew her hand to his lips and kiss- 
ed it. 



XXVIII. 


CAMPING AND CAMPAIGNING. 

“Judson, old fellow,” said Stephen Calder 
one day as he entered the law office, “Judson, I 
have overheard some strange talk to-day ; to he 
forewarned is to be forearmed, according to the 
old maxim.” 

“What is the matter, Stephen,” inquired 
Paul. “You are not to believe all you hear, 
my hoy.” 

“No, but I fear there’s mischief in the air.” 

“Well, so long as it remains in the air, it’s all 
right, for it may blow over,” remarked Paul, 
with good-natured serenity. 

< ‘ But I think it is best for you to leave these 
parts for a while until it does blow over.” 

Stephen Calder, the only son of the senior in 
the law firm of which Paul had just risen to he 
a junior member, had ever since his college days 
been engaged in business with the largest hard- 
ware firm in town. Stephen did not take to the 
law, as his father had wished, but was happy 

35 * 


Camping and Campaigning . 353 

and successful in the life of a merchant. It 
was while sitting at his desk in the store of 
Watts & Calder that he had overheard a con- 
versation which led him to slip out and go 
around to the law building in which Calder, 
Byrd & Judson did business. 

Paul was alone when Stephen entered. 

- “A few moments ago,” said the young mer- 
chant, as he went on to explain the words he 
had just uttered, “two men from the county, 
one of them very full of vile whisky, began to 
swear and call your name, among others, saying 
that ‘that young scoundrel from Perry, who 
has come in here to regulate our business, has 
got to take his pill of hot lead.’ ” 

“Oh, well,” said Paul, “when a man’s in- 
toxicated, little confidence can be put in what 
he says.” 

“Yes, but men give away their secrets some- 
times, too, when they are drunk; ‘When wine’s 
in, wit’s out,’ they say.” 

“If it be necessary, it is easy for me to act 
upon the suggestion of your fears, for only yes- 
terday came a letter from the National Cam- 
paign Committee of our party, thanking me for 
consenting to speak in the Presidential cam- 
paign and urging me to begin at once. There 
lies my letter of acceptance, ready for mailing.” 

“Capital idea,” rejoined Mr. Calder, the 
senior, who had come in while Paul was speaks 
in g. “Your reputation as a public speaker hasi 


354 


Paul Judson. 


now become known throughout the state; you 
will doubtless have opportunity to exert your 
influence more widely still. I am glad you have 
accepted. ’ ’ 

The approaching election was to be a close 
one and the issues involved of a nature that ex- 
cited more than ordinary interest among the 
electors. 

In a few days word came to Paul Judson from 
the national headquarters that he was desired in 
a campaigning tour beginning in Missouri and 
ending in Texas. 

Within a week from the time of Steve ’s visit 
to the law office Paul was ready for his south- 
western trip. One of the county newspapers 
next day contained the following item : 

‘ ‘ Paul Judson, who has won for himself such 
enviable reputation as a forceful and eloquent 
speaker, and who lately distinguished himself 
in breaking the grasp of the lawless ring which 
had terrorized our county, has accepted an in- 
vitation to make a series of political speeches in 
the states of Missouri, Kansas, Arkansas and 
Texas. The party is to be congratulated upon 
securing the services of so able an orator and 
debater.’ ’ 

It was known only by a few intimate friends 
what train Paul would take. Unmolested, he 
was now on his way as rapidly as the great 
engine could carry him westward. Presently 
he remembered that there had been thrust into 


Camping and Campaigning . 355 

his hand as he was leaving the Calder home 
that morning a neat package. It had been placed 
there by Miss Grace Calder, daughter of Harlan 
Calder, and known by all in that region as one 
of the most beautiful and cultured young women 
of their acquaintance. Indeed, Miss Grace was 
universally regarded as the belle of the entire 
section, for she was esteemed far and wide for 
her gracious charms both of person and of char- 
acter. Withal, she was rich, even in her own 
right. The curious had already ceased counting 
the number of her disappointed suitors, and she 
was not yet twenty-two. Many were those who 
said they ‘ ‘ knew she would marry Paul Jud- 
son . 9 9 

Paul took the package and began opening it* 
When the outside wrapping was removed there 
was disclosed a tastefully wrapped box, tied 
with ribbon, and on the inside, a most daintily 
prepared luncheon. In one corner of the box 
was a small nosegay of forget-me-nots, and a 
note in Grace’s own hand. Paul read the mis- 
sive, and as he perused it the second time a 
slight flush came over his countenance. He 
placed the paper in his pocket and sat for a 
moment as if in deep reverie. 

Miss Grace was a lovely girl. Indeed, she 
was a young woman of uncommon qualities. 
Paul had known her intimately now for several 
years. They lived under the same roof, ate at 
the same table, sang sweet songs/ together in 


356 


Paul Judson . 


the twilight, as the family sat around enjoying 
the delightsome pastime. Paul had seen Grace 
Calder when winds were fair, as well as when 
little matters went wrong about her. But she 
was always the strong, amiable character, who 
knew how to say the right word at the proper 
moment, to soothe the ruffled spirit, and lend 
sweetness and light to every situation. The 
dainty luncheon and the words of good will 
were bits of thoughtfulness just like her, and 
they sent the young orator with happier heart 
upon his way, making the tour easier and his 
tasks the lighter. 

One day when he had missed his train in a 
Texas town and was compelled to remain over 
till next day, Paul inquired what was going on in 
town that evening. “A great preacher from 
W is scheduled to preach in the audi- 

torium. He is regarded as the biggest preacher 
in all Texas/ ’ 

4 4 Texas is a big state, and is fond of big 
things,” mused Paul, “I believe I’ll go and hear 
‘the biggest preacher in Texas.’ ” 

A great General Baptist Convention of Texas 
was in session and six thousand people were 
thronging the immense hall. The house was full 
almost to suffocation. 

Presently the speaker of the evening appeared 
upon the platform. He was at least six feet, 
three inches tall, and standing as he did with 
square shoulders and erect form, his appear- 


Camping and Campaigning. 


357 


ance was most commanding. The long, but well- 
trained beard, which came almost to the preach- 
er’s waist gave added suggestion of strength 
to that which his massive brow revealed. 

As the minister began, moving with such 
unusual deliberation, Paul’s first impression 
brought disappointment, but as he proceeded to 
unfold the great truth he had chosen to present, 
it became manifest that a master was at the 
helm. 

“The little boats can get off in a hurry,” 
thought Paul, “but here is a great ocean liner 
starting out from the docks.” 

And so it was ; the power of the preacher was 
cumulative. He began at length to bear all 
things before him. No point nor phase of the 
subject seemed to escape his attention, his 
words caught fire; no person who heard him 
was unaffected by his moving eloquence. 

His text was from the Song of Songs : “Who 
is he that cometh forth as the morning, fair as 
the moon, clear as the sun and terrible as an 
army with banners.” 

The sermon was an eloquent setting forth of 
the glory of the people of God in their victorious 
march to the call of Christ’s leadership. It was 
a plea for an advance with God in solid phalanx 
for the spread of his kingdom throughout the 
world. Consecration and co-operation were the 
two notes the great preacher struck. 

“This is no time for the Lord’s army for a 


368 


Paul Judson . 


single hour to be dragging its banner in tbe dust 
of suspicion, of controversy and strife. We 
shall unite against the common foes of skep- 
ticism and intemperance. With those who will 
not join us in the progressive effort to obey 
Christ’s commands and to realize his promises 
we shall not stop to quarrel, but in the name 
of our fathers ’ God we shall set up our banners. ’ ’ 

Then followed an earnest and tender plea for 
personal consecration to that service which is 
best worth while— the cause of the divine Be- 
deemer. 

Young Judson went to the southwest to dis- 
cuss political issues which were upon the minds 
of his countrymen, but new currents were 
started in his own soul ; or rather old ones, that 
seemed well-nigh dried in their springs, showed 
signs of flowing again. In this great conven- 
tion he felt a mighty power; the very atmos- 
phere thrilled him. In touch with this awakened 
multitude he realized as he had not for many 
months that after all “the things that are not 
seen are eternal.” This feeling was to be 
further enkindled by an experience yet in store 
for him. 

“Judson,” said a Texas friend one day, as 
they sat together in the corridor of the hotel, 
“you should by all means see something of 
ranch life before you leave our great state. ’ ’ 

“I have often wished to see something of 
your wide-spreading plains,” replied this son 


Camping and Campaigning . 359 

of the Kentucky mountains, “for I am a child 
of the hills.” 

Within a week Paul Judson found himself 
taking a little rest from the nervous strain of 
continuous speaking. He was actually among 
the famous cowboys of Texas, upon a typical 
ranch in the “Panhandle.” 

There was the “big house” where the boss 
of the ranch lives with his family. In this large 
apartment were eight or ten rooms; for there 
must be ample accommodation for the cook and 
his wife, as well as for the boss and his help- 
meet. Cooking is no small concern in a western 
ranch. 

There was also the postoffice, for the ranch- 
men are from every quarter of the country, and 
of course have their friends, and their business 
with the outside world. 

There were also the “bunk” houses, fifteen to 
twenty in number. These were for the “cow 
punchers.” (Be assured, the ranchmen have 
their own vocabulary). But all come into the 
huge dining room in the big house for their daily 
repasts. They were all at the table when Paul 
Judson entered. He had procured from a friend 
a note of introduction to the boss of the ranch, 
and right royally was he received ; for the cow- 
boys are as generous and hospitable a lot as 
may be found on the earth. The huge bell had 
called the boys to the board. The boss of the 
ranch took his place at one end of a long, rough 


360 


Paul Judson. 


table and his wife at the other. Between, on 
each side, the boys were lined up, to do full jus- 
tice to the bill of fare, for which their active 
exercise out-of-doors and their deep breathing 
of pure air always prepare them. 

To one visiting a ranch for the first time, 
there is the element of surprise at the con- 
veniences that are found. A system of water- 
works supplied the little community with water. 
There was the large cistern sufficiently elevated 
to send the water by means of 
pipes to every building and to 
irrigate the garden as well. 
The barbed wires about the 
great enclosures of land, many 
thousand acres in each tract, 
are utilized for a telephoning 
system, covering the entire 
ranch. There were in this big 
house books and periodicals for 
the use of the camp. Among 
the men were several college- 
-bred boys from the best fami- 
J lies of the East. When the 
^weather is fair and the grass is 
\ good, there is much leisure 
1 time for reading and study. 

_ “Ranch life doesn/t seem to 

be as hard a life as it is sometimes pictured,” 
said Paul Judson to the newly made friend who 
was showing him about the camp. 



Camping and Campaigning . 361 

“In good weather, sir, ranch life is not 
severer than many other ways of making a live- 
lihood, but only let a steer go wild and stampede 
the herd, or the stormy weather strike your 
camp— then there’s trouble. It’s then that the 
cattle have to be cared for like babies. They’ll 
drift before the wind and snow, and if you don’t 
succeed in ‘ rounding ’em in’ pretty quick they’ll 
scatter and perish in the storm. ’ ’ 

“How can you protect so many cattle from 
the weather?” inquired the visitor. 

“We build wind-breaks, sir, out of lumber 
and earth to keep them from being scattered by 
the winds; but when there are from twenty to 
fifty thousand head the job of sheltering them is 
a proposition too stitf for management. Then, 
if the winter is very severe, if a blizzard comes, 
thousands of your herd are sure to be lost, sir. ’ ’ 

“Is that the minister we’re expectin’?” one 
asked, as Paul’s presence was observed in the 
camp. 

“I warrant ye, that’s no sky pilot,” re- 
marked another, catching up a phrase of the 
northwest mining camps. 

“I warrant ye, that feller has got some talk 
in him any how,” ventured another, “see the 
jaw, won’t ye?” 

Sure enough, a missionary was expected at 
the ranch that night ; and many supposed Paul 
to be the man. The boys had sent nearly a hun- 
dred miles for the preacher to come and talk to 


362 


Paul Judson. 


them— as the cowboys not infrequently do— 
for they are generally glad to have one of that 
calling come among them, and they are not back- 
ward about “chipping in” handsomely to help 
the true minister on his way. 

The preacher whom the boys expected that 
night was to hold a week’s meeting among them, 
preaching every night. And Paul Judson 
thought it a good opportunity to see something 
of the religious side of a ranchman’s life, little 
suspecting what the occasion might do for his 
own soul. Paul’s faith had for four years 
suffered an eclipse that had brought no little 
sorrow to his mother’s heart, and in his best 
moments, sadness to his own. Lately he had 
been religiously adrift. Prayer had fallen into' 
the background of his life, and was in danger of 
being lost to him forever. The church, he at- 
tended sometimes. But this, too, had not its 
old-time hold upon him. The sermon he had 

heard at D was the first he had listened 

to for two years or more. But that had stirred 
his callous heart. 

The meeting of the cowboys was on. They 
gathered around the camp fire, for it was grow- 
ing chilly. The minister was a heavy-set man 
of about forty-five years of age, with coal black 
hair and round, clean-shaven face. Harris, they 
called him. He had been a cowboy himself, 
knew their strong as well as their weak points, 
and never forgot their view point. 


Camping and Campaigning . 363 

Harris’ text was from “Hebrews, eleven and 
thirteen. ” “ These all died in faith, not having 
received the promises, but having seen them 
greeted them from afar, and confessed that they 
were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For 
they that say such things make it manifest that 
they are seeking a country of their own. And 
if indeed they had been mindful of the country 
from which they went out, they would have had 
opportunity to return. But now they desire a 
better country, that is, a heavenly. Wherefore 
God is not ashamed to be called their God.” 

With wondrous skill, the cowboy preacher 
pictured the old patriarchs putting their hands 
over their eyes and bending forward, greeting 
the blessings of the gospel from afar. There 
was a verisimilitude about it, for the cowboy, 
upon his horse, will throw his hand up to his 
forehead and see objects miles away, across the 
sweep of the prairies, which no untrained eye 
can discern. 

The preacher spoke of the homes from which 
each of the boys before them had gone out. Was 
it to seek a better country? asked he, as he 
stretched out his forceful arm toward the men 
before him. He then told them of the better 
land which God had prepared for those who 
love him, and who by faith are willing to set out 
to possess it. 

The preacher then called on “Jake Soper” to 
pray. The minister knew Jake before. He was 


364 


Paul Judson . 


a young fellow of about twenty-five years, who 
had left his eastern home when he was only 
nineteen, and so had had considerable experi- 
ence as a “cow-puncher.” Jake got right 
down with his knees upon the ground and turn- 
ing upward his earnest face (which though 
brown as a berry was not so brown as to hide 
the big freckles that adorned his honest counte- 
nance), began to pray, or rather to try. But 
really Jake soon showed that he was not in his 
element. He had been soundly converted several 
months before in a meeting held at the ranch 
by a missionary. Since that time he had “led 
the bunch, ” as they said of him, in every good 
word and work— that is, as far as Jake knew 
how. Indeed, he had been the religious leader 
among the boys ever since that meeting, and 
was exceptionally zealous for the spiritual in- 
terests of the camp. To be called on to pray, 
however, came as something of a surprise to 
Jake; but under all the circumstances, he didn’t 
like to “quail,” or “plead the baby act” before 
the boys who had begun to look up to him as 
first in everything that was right. 

Poor Jake, with much perturbation of mind, 
began to make his blundering, stammering ef- 
fort, and then breaking down, looked up at the 
preacher and said, “Well, Parson, I can’t cut 
her, you take it, please.” Jake’s face was as 
wet with perspiration as though he had been 
trying to “round in” a thousand head of ob- 


Camping and Campaigning . 365 

streperous cattle. But it was honest sweat, for 
Jake’s attempt was so heroic and his earnest^ 
ness so evident to all the hoys, that instead of 
laughing at his discomfiture, they really ad- 
mired his ‘ 1 grit. ’ * Instead of smiles, there were 
tears welling up in a number of eyes, for all 
with bowed heads followed the parson’s earnest 
prayer, as he accepted Jake’s imploring invita-* 
tion to ‘ i take it.” Harris prayed for Jake, for 
the boys and their loved ones at home. When he 
had finished the sniffling heard here and there 
among the men, told the story of pent-up emo- 
tion. Some with the hacks of their hard, rough 
hands wiped the tears from their eyes, nor con- 
cealed the fact that their feelings had been made 
tender that night. 

1 ‘ Boys,” said the preacher, “I’m going to 
sing a song now, which I know you ’ve all heard 
before you left your homes in the East. I want 
to ask every one of you to join in the chorus.” 
In a clear and musical, though not cultured 
voice, Harris began to sing. It was the familiar, 
“Where is My Wandering Boy Tonight!” 

At once the song began to sweep like a morn- 
ing zephyr over the heart-strings of every man: 
in the camp, and to grow in its power with every 
stanza. The boys joined heartily in the chorus, 
though there were chokings in the throat and, 
a quivering in many a lip. 

“My heart o’erflows, for Ilove him he knows, 

Oh, where is my boy tonight?” 


366 


Paul Judson. 


“Boys,” said Harris, “with your permission, 
I will preach again to-morrow night.” 

There is nothing formal about meetings in the 
ranch. One of the boys volunteered, before the 
preaching to sing a song he had learned at home. 
Seating himself at a little reed organ that the 
camp had purchased, in a clear and sweet bari- 
tone, he struck up “The Holy City,” and sang 
every word of it, with an expression and ac- 
curacy that astonished all who did not know 
that he had come from one of the most cultured 
families of Carolina and was upon the ranch be- 
cause he simply took to that kind of life, and 
was making the most of it. Through the rough- 
ness of exterior, due to the exposures which at 
certain seasons cowboy life makes necessary, 
there shone in the singer’s face a refinement 
which bespoke generations of gentle breeding. 

Harris preached on the text: “I will look 
unto the hills from whence cometh my help,” 
and he pointed those sons of the plains to a 
Power above themselves who alone can guard 
them from danger and from sin. 

“Won’t some one else sing a song for us; the 
one we had a while ago was fine,” said Harris, 
in his rough and ready way, after he had finish- 
ed his soul-stirring talk. 

It was a dangerous thing to do, but Harris 
seemed to divine that this time, such an invita- 
tion would not miss its mark. 

None of the boys moved. Harris repeated his 


Camping and Campaigning. 367 

request. Presently Paul Judson arose in the 
outskirts of the company. On the evening be- 
fore he had been as much moved as any heart 
present by the words and songs he had heard, 
though he had said nothing. He felt himself a 
wanderer from his childhood faith and his 
heart’s high-tide ran irresistibly toward the 
lone one, who in “the old Kentucky home,” far 
in the mountains, might be even then bearing 
his name to a throne of divine grace. He, too, 
was a wandering boy. 

“May one who has only strayed in, a visitor, 
venture to take part in your meeting?” asked 
Paul of the minister, who was just now waiting 
for a song. 

“Break right in, sir,” replied Harris, as 
quick as a flash. 

“While the preacher was talking from that 
word of Scripture, ‘Look unto the Hills,’ ” said 
the visitor, “there came back to my memory a 
song which I haven’t sung for years and pick- 
ing up a violin which one of the boys had 
brought with him, Paul began to play and to 
sing with his rich, melodious voice, 

“ Flee as a bird to your mountain, 

Ye who are weary of sin 
Come to the life-giving fountain” — 

and his whole soul went out in unison with the 
song. The boys sat as if held to their seats by 
a power not their own, till the last syllable was 
rendered. 


368 


Paul Judson. 


“I thank the friend for that sweet song,” said 
Harris. “We will sing again. Last night one 
of the boys came up to me after the meeting and 
gave me his hand and said, ‘That song you sung 
tonight broke my stony heart; for I haven’t 
written to my old mother back at home for seven 
years. She don’t even know where I am. I fear 
my waywardness has already broke her heart. 
I’m going to write her this night, that her 
wandering boy is found.’ ” 

“When I went to my bunk,” continued Har- 
ris, “I was thinking what my young friend 
would write his mother at home and I composed 
a song that I’m going to sing.” 

Harris’ song was “Here is Your Wandering 
Boy,” and the refrain needed to be repeated 
but once. Every man in the ranch was making 
the air ring in whole-souled fervor : 

‘ ‘ Here is your wandering boy 

Far out on the plain, he’s found again, 

Oh, here is your wandering boy. ’ ’ 

“Is there a wayward one here who will re- 
turn home to-night?” asked Harris, as he held 
out both his arms, imploringly. 

The young man who had expressed himself 
privately the night before, was the first to go 
forward and give Harris his hand. Others fol- 
lowed, one by one, till it seemed that every man 
present was on his feet, shaking hands in his 
vigorous way. Into the eyes of some who had 
not wept for years there welled up great tears, 


Camping and Campaigning. 369 

which rolled down their cheeks. Young Jndson 
himself was moved, his doubts and indifference 
seemed to melt in the fire of the camp’s re- 
ligious fervor. At the bottom of his heart he 
felt himself a wanderer from the boyhood homo 
where a mother’s love and a mother’s prayers 
once warmed and sweetened everything around. 
And though he was nearly two thousand miles 
from Hawk’s Nest, he felt in his soul of souls 
that a current was hearing his spirit hack to the 
home of its first love. 

Next day he shook warmly the hands of the 
boys whom he had learned to love for their big- 
hearted generosity, and turned his back upon 
the camp forever. A letter had been following 
him for two weeks. It was in an unknown hand- 
writing. But the redirectioQ of it was evidently 
the hand of the Honorable Harlan Calder. The 
letter had first come to the care of Calder, Byrd 
& Judson, and had been forwarded. It read as 
follows : 

4 4 Your mother is very ill and calls for you. 
Come to her at once. ’ ’ 

It was under these circumstances that Paul 
Judson canceled all further engagements and 
was rapidly making his way homeward. 



1 



XXIX. 


A BIRD LET LOOSE. 

‘ 1 Mother, do you know me?” 

Paul stood by the bedside of the best friend 
he had ever known. As fast as wheels and steam 
could carry him, he had come from western 
Texas to the region of his native mountains. 
Four days from the time he received word of 
his mother’s illness, he was present in the 
humble chamber at Hawk’s Nest where she 
whom he had loved best of all the world lay, 
awaiting the call. 

Mrs. Judson, who had taken little notice of 
anyone around her for several days, at the 
sound of the familiar voice of her elder son, 
looked into his face. 

“Paul, my child, is it you?” 

“My child,” said she, for mothers can never 
think of their sons, though they be ever so far 
advanced in manhood, as aught but children; 
for, indeed to them they are children still. Mrs. 

37 ° 


A Bird Let Loose. 


371 


Judson reached out her feeble hand towards 
Paurs. He gently grasped it in his own and 
said: 

“Yes, mother, I am here. I have come all 
the way from Texas to see you.” 

“Tell Marcus to come in,” said the sick 
woman, whose fevered brain was wandering. 

For several days she had been calling for her 
boys. Her elder child was at last by her side. 
The younger was somewhere on the wide waters 
—no one knew exactly where. No cable nor 
wireless message could reach him. When the 
last letter came telling his whereabouts he was 
with the Atlantic Transport Company, having 
rapidly risen to the place of first mate upon one 
of their best ships. 

“Tell Marcus not to forget the cows.” 

These words and many others showed that 
Mrs. Judson was living over again experiences 
of the past. The boys were again by her side 
at Hawk’s Nest attending to their daily tasks 
about the place as in the days of their child- 
hood. 

‘ ‘ Paul will keep the fire burning. ” “ Marcus, 
are not the cows in the garden!” Such words 
as these came from the lips of the dying mother 
who scarcely knew what it was to have an idle 
brain. 

Again, there would be lucid moments, as the 
sun shines clear for a moment through some 
rift in overhanging clouds. 


372 


Paul Judson. 


“When I’m gone, see that every cent is paid. 
Life has been a struggle with me, but I want it 
to he an honorable struggle to the end. ’ 9 

Paul’s head fell in sadness as these words 
were uttered. 

“Did you not know, mother, that just before 
leaving for the Southwest, I paid the very last 
dollar of indebtedness and every cent of interest 
upon the place?” 

Her mind wandered again. 

She had manifestly not under- 
stood. It was for Paul that the 
heavy debt had been incurred. 

In another year he could 
have made his mother com- 
fortable, for, now for the first 
time he was in a position to 
reap the reward of a lucrative 
practice. Was she to pass 
away before this happy con- 
summation could be realized. 

“Mother, oh, mother, you 
must live. In a few months, I 
could bring you from these 
poor, cramped quarters into a 
home where you will be happv^ 
and have everything you* 
need.” 



“Where are the men?” she asked presently. 
“Men? What men, mother?” 

“The men, my son; those men.” 


A Bird Let Loose. 


373 


“She means the men who have been testin’ 
for oil on the place,” suggested Mrs. Filson, 
who, a friend through the years, sat at the foot 
of the bed, faithful still. 

“Testing for oil? When did they come?” 

“They’ve ben in this neighborhood fer nigh 
on to two weeks. Whether they’ve found airy 
drap o’ oil or no, I ain’t hyeard,” replied Mrs. 
Filson, with her peculiar drawl. 

“W 7 e don’t know where the men are, mother.” 

“Where’s Marcus?” asked the dying mother. 

“Marcus is far away on the sea, mother.” 

“Didn’t he promise he’d come back soon?” 

“Yes, mother, you remember that we had a 
letter from Marcus a few weeks ago, saying that 
in a season, when traffic was not so great, he 
would take a month or two off and come back to 
Hawk’s Nest to see you.” 

He was to come with his years of savings with 
him; was to surprise his fond mother’s heart 
and give her ease and happiness in place of hard 
work and want withal. Was she to pass away 
before he could reach her; before he could tell 
her again how much he loved her, notwithstand- 
ing his years of absence and of wandering? 

“Bury me, my son— when I am gone— beside 
your father and the little ones in yon burying- 
ground which good Hiram Clay marked off for 
himself and for his own loved ones to rest in.” 

“No, mother, you will not leave us yet.” 

“I go. I see— it is opening. Is this death? 


374 


Paul Judson . 


This is not death! Life! Life! Come, Jesus— 
Savior! Life— sweetness— heaven !” 

There was silence. The bosom heaved not. 

As Paul with moist eyes held the hand of his 
mother, a spirit floated silently from its house 
of clay *rto the presence of its Maker, as a 
bird let loose, or like the launching of the ship, 
when the stays that for a time held it to the land 
are removed— which majestically glides into the 
calm bosom of the great sea. So this noble life, 
lived far removed from the glare of earthly 
splendor, remote from the large currents of 
human endeavor, went to its last long resting 
place, greeting with a cheer its entrance into 
heaven’s blest abode, 

“ The far away home of the soul.” 

It is not every bird that can safely be abroad 
in times of wind and storm. When the harsh 
September gales sweep the coast, big flocks of 
seabirds, rovers of the air, are beaten far out 
into the great deep. Many of them rise and for 
a moment labor the blast with swift strokes, 
then turn with shrill cries of distress and are 
swept away. But the staunch seaeagle spreads 
his huge wings to the storm and sets his bold 
breast against its mad rush. Taking its relent-, 
less force beneath his feathers he is lifted. He 
sees the thick woof of the gathering cloud and 
plunges into it with confidence. He shakes the 
very tempest from his wings in mockery of its 
power, for he knows his mastery of the upper 


A Bird Let Loose. 


375 


sky. Then flattening his pinions he glides at 
last, brave bird, back through the turmoil of the 
storm, to his native eyrie. There he finds refuge 
from every gale. 

The brave woman who, in her narrow sphere 
had lived so heroically and died so triumphant- 
ly, closed her eyes upon the things of this life, 
but opened them on visions of rapture. For her 
faith was victorious, even in the darkest mo- 
ment of her sojourn. She was among those 
courageous souls who are forever saying in their 
hearts, 

“I see my path as birds their trackless way, 

I shall arrive — what time, what circuit first 
I ask not. But unless God send his hail 
Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow, 

In good time — his own good time, I shall arrive. 

He guides me and the bird. In his good time.” 

Who will say that the great are all in palaces, 
or all the good in temples? Far away from 
the maddening crowd, Matilda Judson lived for 
others, her neighbors, her children, her God. On 
earth she was not observed by the surging 
world. In heaven’s roll of honor she was an 
uncrowned queen— now crowned in diadems of 
glory. 

Paul stood and looked into the calm placid 
face of the woman who had continuously given 
her life for him. She had died as she had lived. 
She was faithful to the end. Bowing his head 
over the casket he there rededicated himself to 


376 


Paid Judson. 


the Master— whom in his boyhood he had 
known— to the Savior whom his mother loved 
so long and served so well. Here he once more 
felt the currents of the spirit-life which as a 
youth had warmed his soul and vitalized his 
efforts, run fresh and strong again through his 
entire being. It was here Paul found that oft- 
repeated paradox, supreme happiness in his 
over-mastering sorrow. 

How could the doubts and disappointments of 
life stand unshaken when before his eye and in 
his memory, beyond the possibility of erasure, 
was the character, the imperishable hope, the 
undying faith of his mother. Here he found the 
best work he had ever read upon the evidences 
of Christianity. She was faithful unto death. 
No argument of skeptic could overthrow the 
lifelong testimony of this living epistle. 

As he gazed for the last time into the angel 
face of his mother, Paul was forever trans- 
formed, and fixed in his heart’s purpose. He 
vowed from that good hour forever to serve in 
simple faith the Savior whom she followed. 

Even from her pallid face he seemed to read 
fresh visions of life’s eternal values, and to 
catch new inspirations for attaining them. 

“ There is no mother’s face, however plain, 

However stained with grief or seamed with age, 
Which does not show at times an angel grace, 

An inward light which brightens life’s whole page.” 

They laid her body to rest in the little bury- 


A Bird Let Loose. 377 


mg ground upon the hillside, under the trees. 
A simple slab still marks the hallowed spot. 



Tarrying a few days within the sacred pre- 
cincts of his childhood hoime, now made more 
holy still, Paul sat looking out toward the road 
in silent reverie. Suddenly he discovered that 
some one was approaching over the rough way 
that leads to the house. Visitors were never 
numerous in that section and Paul wondered 
who the unknown visitor might be. 

“A colporter, or a salesman, perhaps, who 
wishes supper and a night’s lodging,” thought 
he. 

Presently the stranger was near enough for 
Paul to see a smile play over his face. 

“Why, Marcus, is that you! Come in, old 
fellow. Where did you come from! No one ex- 
pected you for a month or two. Come right in. 
How glad I am to see you just now.” 

“Talk gently, I’ll surprise mother,” said 
Marcus, with suppressed tones, his countenance 
beaming with expectancy. 

He noticed at once a change come over his 
brother’s face. 


378 


Paul Judson. 


“How is mother ?” asked the young man. 

‘ 1 She is well, I hope. ’ ’ 

“Well? She is well, Marcus; all is well.” 

“What? Tell me all. Mother”— 

4 ‘ Three days ago we laid her body in the lit- 
tle graveyard by father’s side, Marcus. I’m 
sorry you were not here. She called for you 
repeatedly. Her last prayer was for you, Mar- 
cus. She prayed that her boy far out on the bil- 
lows might weather every storm, keeping his 
eye on the Star, and come at last to the desired 
haven. ’ ’ 

This petition, the last of many hundreds, 
breathed heavenward night and morning from a 
mother’s anxious heart, swept over Marcus’ 
soul with a power never felt before. He had 
not been present to hear a last tender word 
spoken to him ; but those words spoken for him 
in the Father’s ear, made their everlasting im- 
press upon the young man’s memory, and 
seemed to whisper to the sailor boy’s soul : 

“Henceforth wherever thou mayst roam 
My blessing like a line of light, 

Is on the water day and night, 

And like a beacon guides thee home.” 

The two brothers did not go into the house, 
but made their way with heavy hearts to the 
dearest spot on earth to them. As they stood 
with choking throats and bowed heads looking 
upon the new-made grave, they spoke not a 
word. Their thoughts were too deep for speech, 


A Bird Let Loose . 


379 


their feelings too profound, and too tender for 
expression. But none the less, these thoughts 
that lay too deep for words had their power 
over the two lives as they stood there inwardly 
weeping ; a power that cannot be computed. For 
who has not at some time realized that 

“ Far out on the ocean are billows, 

That never will break on the beach, 

And songs have been heard in the silence. 

That never will float into speech.” 

There the two sons lingered while a flood of 
sacred memories of a mother ’s love rnshed over 
their sorrowing hearts. 



XXX. 


NOT FORGOTTEN. 

The two brothers sat a few evenings later 
upon the little porch that their father more than 
thirty years before had added to the cabin of 
Hiram Clay. Their hearts were turned toward 
the future, though their minds were ever bring- 
ing them suddenly back to fond memories of the 
past. 

Presently Marcus broke the silence. 

i ‘ Paul, what has become of that charming 
girl, Virginia Tunstall, to whom you introduced 
me many summers ago? It was during the big 
meeting in Old Timber Ridge .’ 9 

“Virginia Tunstall— what a fine young 
woman she was. I shall never forget her. From 
the first day I made her acquaintance in so un- 
expected a fashion upon the highway, to the 
evening I heard her read the cleverest valedic- 
tory I ever listened to from either man or 
woman, she made for herself a place in my 
memory all her own.” 

380 


381 


Not Forgotten . 

“I think you halfway loved her,” said Mar- 
cus, in a tone of interrogation, which showed 
he felt that perhaps his older brother still had 
his heart turned towards her. 

“ Halfway? Why, if she hadn’t had such 
good sense as not quite to encourage me, I think 
I would certainly have given her the two halves 
of a schoolboy’s love.” 

“I am of the opinion that schoolboys gen- 
erally have at least three halves to their love, ’ * 
replied Marcus. 

“ Correct. You were once a schoolboy your- 
self, and”— 

“And loved, yes— for a little while, I was a 
schoolboy. But I see now that I made a mis- 
take in not remaining a schoolboy twice as long 
as I did. We learn to recognize our errors when 
it is too late. As for the schoolboy loves— well, 
those are all over, too. But to return to Miss 
Tunstall— what has become of her?” 

“She has been in the West for several years, 
and I understand has been most successful as 
a teacher in the Indian Territory. Indeed, by 
her pen, a brilliant and forceful one, she has 
been instrumental with others in revolutionizing 
the policy for the suppart of the religious 
schools among the Indians. Almost without ex- 
ception they are now cared for by voluntary 
offerings of the religious bodies which control 
them. The government is not asked to con- 
tribute one cent for the support of such schools.. 


382 


Paul Judson. 


Religious enterprises should disdain to put their 
hands into the government pocket; and they 
should he free from government control. Miss 
Tunstall is a very able woman. Those who 
say that women have no need of educa- 
tion, should open their eves to what educa- 
ted women are doing throughout our country 
for the good of their fellow-men, and fellow- 
women, too.” 

“Paul, you always were a preacher, and I 
suppose you always will be.” 

“But, Marcus, mother always hoped, and 
prayed, too, that you might be the preacher. ’ ’ 

“But she always taught us at the same time 
tint God makes preachers.” 

“Yes, and I have come to believe that even 
though the preacher has the most important 
work, God just as truly makes doctors, lawyers, 
merchants and farmers as that he makes 
preachers.” 

“Does Virginia Tunstall expect to remain in 
Indian Territory all her life?” asked Marcus, 
whose mind had a manifest tendency to recur 
to a pleasing theme. 

“I couldn’t say, Mark. I will give you her 
address; you might find out for yourself. If 
your inquiry were couched in suitable lan- 
guage, she might be impelled to let you know. 
I have heard that her desire has always been to 
go to Japan as a religious teacher for the 
Japanese women.” 


383 


Not Forgotten, 

“The Japanese women are among the most 
interesting creatures in the world. In my 
voyages IVe seen them under the cherry blos- 
soms in their native Nippon. But to tell you 
the truth, Paul, I can never erase that girl from 
my mind. During the past six years IVe sailed 
upon almost all the seas that circle the globe 
and touched at many strange ports, but Virginia 
Tunstall’s face and the simple charm of her 
gracious demeanor have never left me. I think 
it must be that I love the woman ; else why do I 
not forget her 1 9 9 

“There is but one objection that I apprehend, 
Marcus. You can’t get her. But, if you could, 
you will have won a fortune in feminine worth . 9 9 

The conversation at length drifted to ex- 
periences that the brothers had known since 
they were last together. 

“Marcus, old fellow, that little trip you took 
so unexpectedly to the Scilly Isles must have 
been thrilling indeed. ’ 9 

“It was, Paul, and though I would not wil- 



384 


Paul Judson. 


lingly repeat it, I would not take a fortune for 
that experience.” 

“You put a high value upon it for one whose 
fortune consists largely in experience.” 

“I learned much, Paul. It is said that ab- 
sence of body is better than presence of mind in 
such catastrophes, but it was a fine schooling to 
have been in that wreck. For you know 
that nothing reveals human nature as well as 
traveling— especially when all goes wrong. 
Able-bodied men selfishly tried to save them- 
selves from the burning ship when women and 
children were yet in danger; while others with 
the self-sacrifice of real heroism gave them- 
selves for the safety of their fellows. Mothers 
hugged their babes to their bosoms and franti- 
cally cried for help. And it makes me laugh 
even now to think of it— there was a plump 
German fraulein aboard who had taught music 
in America for several years and was returning 
home for a visit. This buxom artist rushed 
frantically upon the deck hugging her violin. 
It must have been a Stradivarius, for she was 
determined to save the instrument even though 
she herself should go to the bottom.” 

“When Ben Franklin was wrecked on the 
Islands there was no lighthouse to guide the 
sailor, I believe.” 

“There is one now. But even so brilliant a 
light could not save us from the fury of the 
wind and waves that beat upon us that night.” 


Not Forgotten . 


385 


These words were scarcely out of Marcus’ 
mouth when two men well dressed, and intel- 
ligent looking, approached. 

“Is this Lawyer Judson!” one of them in- 
quired, as he looked at the older of the two 
young men upon the porch. 

“My name is Paul Judson, and I presume you 
inquire for mo, as I practice law when in my 
home town. ’ ’ 

“Your mother gave us permission several 
weeks ago to make some investigations upon her 
land, with reference to discovering oil and other 
minerals.” 

1 ‘ Since getting to the community I have been 
told of a party which had been prospecting in 
this locality,” rejoined Paul. 

“We have done our work, and are now ready 
to make a definite proposition to the owners of 
the property. That this immediate locality is 
rich in oil, and ore is beyond dispute.” 

“Put your proposition in writing,” said Paul, 
1 1 and my brother and I will consider it. ’ ’ 

“We are willing to offer you a liberal cash 
price for the place; or, if you prefer, we will 
give you its value in paid-up stock in the new 
company which will at once be organized. ’ ’ 

“We shall be pleased to consider your propo- 
sition when it has been definitely made and in 
proper form, and we will give you an early 
answer.” 



XXXI. 


MAKING A CLEAN SWEEP. 

“Judson, we will not allow you to decline. 
You are just the man we need for a standard 
bearer in this fight. ’ 7 

“Gentlemen, I am a poor man. I have my 
living to make, and have no time to be a candi- 
date for a political office. You must excuse me 
for declining to listen to your entreaties. ’ 7 

“But the Legislature needs your courage and 
energy. You have shown your ability to cope 
with political abuses and you must not say no.” 

“I insist that you look for some older man, 
who has had time to establish his practice upon 
a substantial basis ; one who can afford to make 
this sacrifice ; a man of wide experience in pub- 
lic affairs. The next session of the Legislature 
will be one of the most important in the history 
of our Commonwealth.” 

“You are right, Mr. Judson. It will be an 
important session, and that is just the reason 
386 


387 


Making a Clean Sweep. 

we have fixed upon you as the man to repre- 
sent this district in the State Senate. The peti- 
tion which we, the committee, have handed you 
this morning is signed by many of the best and 
most influential citizens in this and the other 
counties of the district, and many of them are 
among the best people of the other party.” 

“I certainly appreciate the distinguished 
honor which you and the rest of these prominent 
gentlemen have paid me, and wish that I might 
feel with you, that I am the man at this juncture 
to represent our people in the Senate.” 

“ We do not mean the request to be understood 
merely in the light of a compliment to a dis- 
tinguished young citizen, I assure you, Mr. Jud- 
son,” said one of the committee, “but it is the 
deep conviction that no one in the whole dis- 
trict can better do the work that needs to be 
done than yourself. We have long enough been 
misrepresented in our Legislative halls. We 
propose to see to it that the decency and in- 
telligence of the district asserts itself ; and that 
the abuses and wrongs from which we have of 
late years suffered shall be things of the past. ’ * 

“Gentlemen, your grievances are not the re*, 
suit of a fevered imagination, I freely admit. 
They are very real, and a long-suffering people 
has endured them too complacently. I should 
be pleased to be enlisted as a fighter in the 
ranks, and pledge myself as a private to do all 
in my power to break the sway of the political 


338 Paul Judson. 

oligarchy which has held us in its pernicious 
grasp.” 

“But the knowledge of their methods which 
the cases you have so ably conducted in the 
courts gave you; your ability and aggressive- 
ness as a speaker ; your youthful vigor, and the 
high regard in which the best elements of the 
community hold you, as well as your close study 
of political questions— all these point to you as 
the man for the emergency.” 

“My friends, I am deeply impressed with 
your earnestness. If I were as certainly con-* 
vinced of your wisdom in this pnatter, I could 
not as a patriot dare to say no. I can now say 
only this, that your request that I accept the 
nomination for the Senate shall have my most 
earnest and careful consideration and you shall 
hear from me in a few days . 9 9 

The committee, which consisted of five of the 
best citizens of the district, thanked Paul Jud- 
son for the attention he had given to their re- 
quest and bowed themselves out of the office. 

“We trust we may hear from you at the 
earliest convenient moment, and pray that the 
reply may be favorable,” said the chairman, as 
the delegation retired. 

That the time was a critical one in public af- 
fairs even the casual observer of events knew 
full well. A political machine, headed by un- 
scrupulous but very astute men, had for some 
years not only dominated but absolutely con- 


389 


Making a Clean /Sweep. 

trolled the party affairs. The people were be- 
ginning to wake up to the servitude to which 
they had been calmly submitting ; and on every 
hand there were mutterings of dissatisfaction 
and revolt. All that was now needed was agita- 
tion coupled with courageous leadership. 

Fortunately the revolt was not of those who 
had but lately been political tools themselves 
and now were smarting under the sting of be- 
ing thrown aside when no longer useful to the 
powers in control, but it was a thoughtful up- 
rising of those great and good people who make 
up the bone and sinew of the body politic ; men 
that fear God, love mankind, and have no axe 
to grind. Teachers in their schools, preachers 
in their pulpits, and substantial men every- 
where were thinking for themselves and uniting 
in the familiar prayer : 

“God give us men, a time like this demands 
Great hearts, strong minds, true faith and willing hands; 

• Men whom the lust of office cannot buy, 

Men who possess opinions and a will, 

Men who have honor, men who will not lie.” 

Under such circumstances as these Paul Jud- 
son found he could not conscientiously decline 
the earnest overtures made him by two hundred 
of the best citizens in the district in which he 
lived. 

One week after the visit of the committee, 
Paul Judson addressed to them a letter con- 
taining these ringing words : 


390 


Paul Judson. 


“Gentlemen: After some days of careful 
consideration, I have decided to accede to your 
request that I become a candidate for the 
party nomination for Senator from this dis- 
trict in the next General Assembly. Under 
existing conditions I do not feel at liberty 
to decline. It is a time when no patriot 
should shrink from any duty which may 
be imposed upon him, however much his own 
private interests may seem to demand that he 
remain passive. 

“In the campaign into which we are soon to 
enter, the issues were never more clear-cut and 
unmistakable. Briefly stated, there is but one 
issue, and that is the cause of political decency 
and honor. Shall the machinery of the govern- 
ment be used to enhance selfish, private ends, or 
will the people who love honesty, and respect 
law assert their power and wrest from the 
hands of an unscrupulous few the reins of gov- 
ernment which they should never have allowed 
to drop from their grasp? If the citizens 
of this district will awaken to their privilege 
and consequently arouse themselves to their 
duty, there need be no fear concerning the re- 
sults. The campaign must be a vigorous one 
from the start, and all good citizens are invited 
to lend their influence and support.’ ’ 

It was manifest to all who read the letter of 
Paul Judson that in the campaign he proposed 
to wage there would be no effort either to mince 


391 


Maldng a Clean Sweep . 

words or to obscure issues. The fight was to 
be a lively one from the start. Aggressiveness 
and vigor would characterize the assault upon 
entrenched forces of evil. In clarion tones all 
good people were called upon to join in the 
fray. Paul Judson was never accused of being 
a coward. He was young, and from tip to toe 
he tingled with energy; and in a storm he was 
always at his best. 

“Don’t be quite- so vigorous in your words; 
you will make enemies, ’ ’ was the advice of some 
of his more conservative friends. Paul spoke 
night after night to large crowds from all parts 
of the district, and always exposed wrong doing 
in uncompromising terms, appealing to the in- 
telligence and consciences of the people but 
never to their prejudice. He asked that they 
take into their hands the administration of the 
laws they had made and not allow them to be 
disregarded by those whose personal interests 
were on the side of lawlessness and graft. 

i ‘ Have I said more than was true V 7 he asked 
of his over-cautious friends. 

“Ho, you have not overstated the truth/ ’ was 
the invariable reply. 

“Do these things need to be said?” 

“We must admit that there is great need for 
plain speech.” 

“Well, if what I say is true, and these things 
heed to be said, why should we be silent?” 

Paul went on day by day, assaulting the very 


392 Paul Judson. 

citadel of the enemy’s position and showing 
them no quarter. 

“A corrupt machine must be demolished . ’ 1 
“ Graft must cease.” “The laws must be en- 
forced. ’ ’ These were keynotes of the campaign. 

“Well did a peerless American statesman pro- 
claim, ‘Every people has as good a government 
as they deserve;’ and another, ‘Eternal vigi- 
lance is the price of liberty.’ We have been 
asleep. We have allowed our liberties— bought 
for us by the precious blood of our forefathers, 
men who esteemed not their lives as too dear a 
price to pay, that their children might be free— 
to be filched from us by our own indifference 
and neglect. We shall prove ourselves alto- 
gether unworthy of the marvelous sacrifices 
they made and the precious heritage they left 
us, if we be willing to sell our liberties for selfish 
gain, or lie supinely and allow the government 
they framed to be dragged through the mire of 
corrupt jobbery and become a prey at last to 
the beak of the vulture. Are we by our willing 
servitude illustrating upon American soil the 
truth of Edmund Burke, ‘It is sometimes as 
hard to persuade slaves to be free as to compel 
freemen to be slaves?’ While honest patriots 
are asleep in their beds, designing men are con- 
cocting plans to debauch the ballot and strike 
free government a blow at its heart.” 

These words were not the ravings of a 
diseased imagination, nor the pious cant of a 


393 


Making a Clean Sweep. 

designing demagogue, but the earnest plead- 
ings of one who had already felt the sense of 
humiliation and shame which comes to a people 
when their government is turned over to un- 
scrupulous men who care only for personal ad- 
vantage or party spoil. 

“Let the ballot-box be debauched/’ said Jud- 
son, in one of his addresses, “and a blow is 
struck at the very foundation of the republic, 
for in a free government like our own the will 
of the people is the government. That will is 
expressed by the ballot. Therefore bribery, 
ballot-box stuffing, or any other fraud at the 
poles is high treason against the republic under 
which we live. It strikes a blow at her very 
heart . 9 9 

Many other strong and unequivocal words 
were uttered by the young attorney. It was 
truly a campaign of political education and the 
people were intensely aroused. 

The canvass waxed warmer as it proceeded. 
In one of the county conventions to nominate 
delegates, the advocates of Paul Judson’s claims 
were pitched out of the window, and the officers 
of the law with their clubs were actually used to 
aid in giving over the convention to the hands 
of his opponents. But being about to be de- 
stroyed they were first made mad. They over- 
reached themselves. A strong popular reaction 
followed their unscrupulous methods. Paul 
Judson was overwhelmingly nominated. At 


394 


Paul Judson, 


once they set to work to beat him at the poles. 
This effort also failed, for he was triumphantly 
elected. Though the fight was a hard and bitter 
one, and some thought his courageous leader- 
ship to be dangerous to his personal safety, he 
came out of it all without a scratch upon his 
body or stain upon his character. 

It must be confessed, however, that there was 
one narrow escape from bodily harm. One 
morning, just following a large meeting in his 
home town— a meeting in which the young can- 
didate had expressed himself with especial 
plainness upon the political abuses that needed 
correction, two men appeared at the door of 
Mr. Harlan Calder and inquired to see Paul 
Judson. Grace Calder had met them on the 
porch and was suspicious of their looks. 

‘ 4 They have asked for you, Paul,” said she, 
“but do not go out, they are bad men. I am 
sure that they mean mischief. ’ ’ 

Paul decided to go out and see what they 
wished. Miss Grace followed. Her intuitions led 
her to feel that trouble might be brewing. At 
once, the spokesman, filled with mean whisky, 
began to abuse Judson. Paul ordered him to 
leave the premises at once. The foremost was 
in the act of drawing his weapon, when quick as 
a flash Paul with his strong, athletic arm, landed 
a stinging blow upon the man’s cheek which 
knocked him down, the pistol falling at the same 
time from his hand. Paul, quickly reaching 


Making a Clean Sweep. 


395 


down, grasped the weapon. The comrade was 
about to draw when Grace Calder threw herself 
in front of Paul. The man seeing his com- 
panion prostrate and himself covered by Paul's 
revolver, fled rapidly down the street. 

Paul went into the house, followed by the 
courageous young woman who had risked her 
life for his and was trembling like a leaf. The 
man who had been stricken down by Paul ’s well 
directed blow, arose and went slinking away in 
great haste. 

There were also humors in the campaign 
which gave a certain relief to the strain. There 
were songs and slogans, banners and mottoes, 
mass meetings and parades with their funny 
side. Such texts as u Down with bossism;” “A 
splinter of the machine for every voter in the 
Commonwealth— there will be souvenirs enough 
for all,” and “ Those who have been fed at the 
pie counter will pay dear for their pastry,” 
these and many more were emblazoned upon 
banners and floated to the breezes. The people 
were dead in earnest after a period of neglect, 
and they won. A majority of the Legislature 
were in favor of reform. But the humorous and 
the tragic of the campaign were both past and 
the community began to settle down into quiet 
again. 

The session of the Legislature was to be a 
very important one. There were several pieces 
of legislation to be proposed that were not only 


396 


Paul Judson . 


of far-reaching consequence, but which carried 
with them large appropriations. 

That which created most interest throughout 
the entire Commonwealth was the question of 
the purchase, improvement and operation by 
the state of the entire turnpike system. 

Paul Judson threw himself into the task of 
making himself thoroughly acquainted with the 
problems of the hour. At once his influence be- 
gan to be felt, and his colleagues realized that 
a man had come among them. 

The session was a busy one. For a new mem- 
ber, with moral purpose, the strain was intense. 
For it was Paul’s purpose to rid the people if 
possible of at least some of the evils which the 
people ’s sleepy neglect had allowed to take root 
in their political life. 

The abuse of the lobby was to be broken up. 
A law must be passed to prevent improper and 
corrupt influence being brought to bear upon 
Legislators in the discharge of their sworn 
duties. Paid agents that hang about the Legis- 
lative halls selfishly to promote the passage of 
bad laws and prevent the enactment of the 
good, were to be driven out of business by a 
stringent law. Better temperance regulations 
were to be enacted. Misappropriation of public 
funds was to be investigated and the proposed 
“turnpike grab” was to be forestalled. It was 
in such matters as these that Senator Paul Jud- 
son was specially interested. He had been 


Making a Clean Sweep. 


39T 


elected as a “reform Senator.” His training* 
habits of mind and recent experiences made him 
of special value in such a crisis. 

The session had been but a few weeks old 
when he was universally recognized as the 
leader of the reform forces in the Legislature. 

Paul Judson was made chairman of the com- 
mittee to investigate the alleged frauds in ex- 
penditure of certain government funds which 
had not been regarded as sufficiently well ac- 
counted for. His appointment was recognized as 
a pledge that there would be no “whitewash- 
ing” of the guilty if such should be found, but 
that dishonesty would be fairly disclosed and 
summarily punished. 

The investigation called for many witnesses 
and much laborious and watchful effort. Not 
once did the young Legislator flinch, however* 
till he had gotten to the very bottom of the af- 
fairs. Strict secrecy characterized the investi- 
gation, but the excitement began to run high; 
for it finally leaked out that while hewing to 
the line some chips had struck with stinging, 
force men high in the official life of the state. 

Indictments followed. The investigating com- 
mittee had done its work, and was ready to re- 
port. To those who affirmed that he would rum 
the party if he continued to expose the evil deeds 
of faithful party workers, Judson replied, “The 
man who takes bribes is not a Democrat nor a 
Republican, but a criminal.” 


398 


Paul Judson. 


Many were the prophecies of personal injury 
and of party disaster, but the young reform 
Senator stood firm, contended bravely, watched 
assiduously and won gloriously. 

When the vote was taken the report was 
adopted and decency had won the day. Before 
the smoke of a righteous political battle had 
cleared away, two Senators had been expelled 
for accepting bribes, a Judge had been im- 
peached and removed, three boodlers were be- 
hind bars, and a half dozen others had put un- 
known miles between them and a people whose 
righteous indignation they had incurred. 

The entire state breathed freer, and Paul 
Judson was heralded throughout the bounds of 
the Commonwealth as the deliverer of his peo- 
ple— one who had led them from indifference to 
wakefulness ; from a condition of political 
bondage into civic purity and freedom. 



XXXII. 


AN EVENTFUL VISIT. 

Bon voyage ! 

The steamer Hellenic was 
about to loose from her docks 
in East river. The tall build- 
ings of the great metropolis, 
jutting skyward were partly 
shrouded in mist. The day did 
not seem propitious for an ocean 
voyage. There were indications 
of bad weather, possibly of 
storm. 

“All ashore !” shouted the of- 
ficer. Friends greeted their de- 
parting loved ones, hurried from 
saloon and deck to the wharf, 
and the gang planks were pulled 
in. Handkerchiefs waved over 
the railing of the steamer, and 
back from the wharf below came 
“Bon voyage !” and a hearty 


400 


Paul Judson. 


“God be with yon,” in the many goodbyes that 
were sent ont from heart to heart. 

On the sailing list that day were the names of 
“Mr. and Mrs. Paul Judson, Kentucky.” Just 
two days before, in the little church at Wilton 
there had stood before Mr. Gates, the minister, 
Paul Judson and Pauline Bacon and publicly 
plighted their troth, ‘ ‘ till death us do part. ’ ’ 

Never in the history of the village had so 
much real interest been excited in any event of 
similar character. Paul Judson was now known 
and esteemed throughout the bounds of the 
Commonwealth as a distinguished public ser- 
vant and alumnus of Marton College, and Miss 
Bacon— ah, what could Marton College do with- 
out Miss Bacon? She had made herself the best 
loved woman in all that region. Coming to 
Wilton when scarcely more than a girl, she had 
by force of character and personal charms en- 
deared herself to both young and old of all 
classes of society. 



Paul’s hopes had at last been realized. Miss 
Bacon had yielded to his love and chosen wife- 
hood, instead of what she at one time regarded 


An Eventful Visit. 


401 


as the noblest of all life’s estates, that of a 
leader of the young, a teacher of mind and 
heart. 

Their wedding trip was to be a tonr abroad. 
Some of Miss Bacon’s early memories were to 
be revived. Friends of bygone days were to 
be revisited. The man for whom her heart 
dilated with affectionate pride was to be in- 
troduced to relatives whom for years she had 
not seen. The great city of London was to he 
visited. 

The good ship Hellenic sent back her pilot, 
turned Sandy Hook and was soon speeding east- 
ward. 

About London there is a calm dignity not 
found everywhere. In the American metropolis, 
upon which seven days before, our happy tour- 
ists had for a time turned their backs, all was 
liulbub; the rush and jostle of business was 
like the boiling of a great caldron. London, no 
less busy, suggested the deeper calm of age, the 
deeper peace of measured repose. 

“Cabman,” called a woman’s voice from the 
hansom, as it turned from Oxford street into 
Edgware Road, with beautiful Hyde Park on 
the left, “I think we have passed the house.” 

Pauline’s eye had been watching for the resi- 
dence of her uncle, where seven years before, 
she had lived with her distinguished kinsman, 
after the death of her father. 

“Does not Mr. Charles Bacon live here!” in- 


402 


Paul Judson. 


quired Pauline of a liveried servant when the 
cab had slowly returned a few paces. 

“This is the house, ma'am,” replied the well- 
groomed, clean-shaven individual, who stood 
near the entrance. Number thirty-nine!” 

Mr. and Mrs. Paul Judson, of America, sent 
up their cards. 

Who they were, no one at the home on Edg- 
ware Road knew. 

Mr. Charles Bacon appeared. 

“Uncle!” 

There was a pause. The glasses of a dignified 
gentleman of sixty-three were adjusted. 

‘ ‘ Why, Pauline ! Surely this is not you ! ' 9 

6 ‘ The very same, uncle ! Allow me to present 
to you my husband, the Honorable Paul Judson, 
Senator from Kentucky.” 

“Mr. Judson— Colonel Judson, shall I call 
you I I am delighted to see you, even in this un- 
expected fashion . 9 9 

“No, I am not a colonel, but plain Mr. Jud- 
son, and I am glad to meet the uncle of Pauline, 
for she has so often spoken to me of Uncle 
Charles, whom she ‘loved best of all in the 
world.' ” 

“Oh, not now, I am sure. Uncle Charles has 



An Eventful Visit. 


403 


at last lost his place of primacy,” said Mr. 
Bacon, with a gracious bow. 

“Pauline has never confessed that she loved 
me, more than just a little ,” replied Paul, with 
a jovial laugh. 

“Now, Paul,” replied his young wife, “it is 
not quantity but quality that counts in this life . 1 1 

“And duration,” added the uncle. “ ‘Love 
me little, love me long, ’ you know is an ancient 
and honorable maxim. 

“But take chairs,” added Mr. Bacon. “We 
are truly glad to have this happy surprise. I 
will call Mrs. Bacon and the girls.” 

Pauline at once felt at home, for the memories 
of girlhood crowded rapidly upon her. 

‘ ‘ Did you receive the letter I wrote you about 
two weeks ago, Pauline!” asked her uncle, when 
he was again seated in the drawing room. 

1 1 The letter you wrote me, uncle ! What let- 
ter!” 

“Oh, I wrote you some good news that came 
to us from Australia lately.” 

“Indeed! What is going on in Australia— 
dear old Australia! I love it still.” 

“You remember, Pauline, that your father 
left a piece of land near Melbourne which was 
at one time regarded as quite valueless, and 
was scarcely accounted an asset. It has recently 
become very valuable, and as your father’s ex- 
ecutor, I have sold it for a handsome sum.” 

“Oh, how delightful!” 


404 


Paul Judson . 


“Of course the income from the sale is yours. 
Pauline.’ ’ 

“That is lovely, is it not, Paul?” 

“Quite agreeable news, I confess,” replied 
her husband. 

“My husband has had a somewhat similar ex- 
perience, uncle. He has but recently disposed 
of a part of the land about the old home in the 
Kentucky mountains for twenty thousand dol- 
lars. It was this, to no little degree, that caused 
us to decide upon a visit to you, uncle, as our 
bridal tour. Our Kentucky mountains are full 
of coal, iron and oil. Almost a ‘boom,’ as we 
say, is on.” 

“Yes,” added Paul, “we reserved the modest 
house, which to me will always be a mansion, 
and the little burying ground which for me will 
never cease to be a shrine, and sold the larger 
part of the land to a stock company. ’ ’ 

“Ah, there’s no part of the world like 
America for natural riches,” said Mr. Bacon, 
“and the rapidity with which your wealth there 
is being developed is one of the wonders of the 
modern world. We have learned even over 
here that ‘America is another name for op- 
portunity.’ ” 

“We are very proud of our rapid progress,” 
remarked Paul. 

“America’s greatest temptation, as I see it 
from across the waters,” replied the English- 
man, “is the danger of being commercialized— 


405 


An Eventful Visit . 

of measuring everything in dollars and cents.” 

“You have discerned accurately our great 
danger, Mr. Bacon. Our supreme peril lies in 
the direction you indicate. Social life is in con- 
stant danger of being measured by the size of 
the pocketbook ; education by the number of mil- 
lions in endowment; politics by what can be 
‘made out of it;’ and even religion must fight 
hard to keep out of the clutches of mammon. ’ ’ 
“My husband,’ ’ remarked Pauline, “has just 
come out of a warm fight with the ‘boodlers,’ as 
we call them in America.” 

“I trust he won his battle,” said the uncle, 
eagerly, “for there is nothing that so destroys 
patriotism as the idea that the government 
exists to be bled, and that a citizen without dis- 
grace may become a blood- sucking vampire, and 
feed upon the resources of the nation. ’ ’ 

“Well, quite a number found out that such a 
policy was disgraceful before we had finished 
our work of government house-cleaning. Some 
will wear stripes the rest of their natural life,” 
was Paul’s emphatic remark. 

“It was in that contest for righteousness and 
good government that I realized as never before 
that God is in his world. I felt I could not be 
mistaken and that those who were striving to 
realize righteousness on the earth, are really 
workers together with him. I found out anew a 
truth I had really begun to doubt, that is, that 
in a fair and open encounter between right and 


4 = 06 


Paul Judson . 


wrong, right was always an incalculable ad- 
vantage. This came to me as an unanswerable 
argument that 4 God is in his heaven. ’ ’ ’ 

4 ‘Well, we, too, have our troubles in England. 
You have known of our Education Act by which 
advantage is given to one religious party over 
all others; putting the control of a very large 
part of the school system of the kingdom under 
the control of the Established Church.’ ’ 

“Our American papers have been full of it, 
and of course Pauline has told me of her ex- 
periences when the Act first went into ef- 
fect.” 

“I am an Englishman,” said Mr. Bacon, as 
he struck his fist hard upon a table near him, 
“but, sir, the law is iniquitous. It should be re- 
pealed before it works any greater damage and 
hardship upon thousands of the best people of 
the realm. ’ ’ 

“We have a saying in America that a thing 
is never decided till it is decided right,” sug- 
gested Paul. 

“The matter has not reached its final stage, 
I assure you, sir ; it means the beginning of dis- 
establishment throughout Great Britain. The 
American idea of separation of church and state 
is the only sane one for both church and state. 
The mother country must follow the example of 
her progressive daughter.” 

A series of drives about London was a rare 
treat for Paul Judson, who knew the land of his 


An Eventful Visit . 


407 


forefathers only through books and pictures. 

Westminster Abbey, of course he visited, 
moving with reverent spirit in the midst of as- 
sociations made sacred by the great and good 
in the annals of a noble history. To be akin to 
a people who could from the ashes of her sons 
build a “Poet’s Corner,” shelter the name of 
a Wordsworth and commemorate a Wesley, 
caused the breast of the young servant from 
the other side of the Atlantic to dilate with un- 
common veneration. 

The Parliament buildings hard by were of spe- 
cial interest to our American Legislator from 
Kentucky. It so happened that the government 
was being hotly criticised by a member of the 
Liberal party for the Education Act, about 
which Mr. Bacon had already so emphatically 
expressed himself. Indeed, a very large part 
of the population was at almost fever heat con- 
cerning it. 

“Who is the member now addressing the 
House!” asked Paul. 

“That is the Honorable Lloyd-George, ” was 
the reply. He was on his feet vigorously de- 
nouncing the ministry for its part in the trans- 
action. 

“I have opposed this Act,” said he, “not be- 
cause it was passed by my political opponents, 
but because it transgresses the essential prin- 
ciples of my conscientious beliefs. Had it been 
passed by a Liberal ministry I should have op- 


408 


Paul Judson. 


posed it in the same way. I will never be a 
party to any agreement which will necessitate 
the application of the civil power to the com- 
pulsory herding together of the children of the 
state under the sectarian teaching of the priest.” 

‘ 1 Hear! Hear!” went up in chorus all about 
him as the speaker uttered these earnest words. 

4 1 By the way, ’ ’ said Mr. Bacon, who was con- 
ducting the two Kentuckians, “this speech re- 
minds me that there is a meeting announced by 
the * Passive Resisters’ for today in Islington. 
Some of the leaders will speak. The meet- 
ing is indeed to encourage the people to 
maintain their attitude of dignified refusal to 
be over-ridden by a policy which would cause 
the people in many parts of England and Wales 
to pay for the privilege of having their chil- 
dren taught religious doctrines that they them- 
selves reject as pernicious and unscriptural. ’ ’ 

“Let’s go and hear what the ‘ Resisters’ have 
to say for themselves,” suggested Paul. 

‘ ‘ Agreed. W e will lunch and go, ” replied Mr. 
Bacon, promptly. 

Cutting short their visit to the House of Com- 
mons and getting a hasty luncheon, near the spot 
where many literary celebrities of Queen Eliza- 
beth’s time once told yarns and chatted over 
their ale, the little party was off for the meet- 
ing of the “Passive Resisters.” 

“Ah, fortunate, indeed, we may regard our 
selves today,” said Mr. Bacon, as the party took 


An Eventful Visit . 


409 


their seats in the hall. * ‘ There is John Clifford, 
the distinguished dissenting leader; and near 
him sits Meyer, whom you Americans know so 
well from his visits to your country. That young 
man, with hair beginning to turn gray”— 

“Hasn’t he a lovely, gracious face,” quickly 
interrupted Pauline. 

“That is Eeginald Campbell, of the City Tem- 
ple. To his left sits Dr. Horton, president of the 
National Council of Free Churches, and to his 
right Mr. Shakespeare, secretary of the Baptist 
Union.” 

“A distinguished company, surely,” replied 
Paul Judson. 

“Ah, Dr. Clifford is about to speak,” whis- 
pered some one. 

“He is chief speaker today,” replied another. 

It was true. That sturdy, alert Englishman 
was again to give voice to his protest against 
the harsh conditions in which the people found 
themselves. John Clifford was one of that line 
of English Baptists who were stirred into new 
life by Dan Taylor, the consecrated Yorkshire 
miner, a man who, in the days of Wesley caught 
some of Wesley’s fire and went out to bless his 
fellowmen. 

On the day of this meeting, the feeling ran 
high, for the Lord Chief Justice of England had 
just the day before handed down a decision that 
those who should refuse to pay the tax im- 
posed by the Education Act for the support of 


410 


Paul Judson. 


the Church of England schools are thereby dis- 
franchised. 

Clifford arose, with special earnestness in his 
strong, English face. 

“It is difficult to believe that at the beginning 
of the twentieth century Englishmen of high 
character and indisputable loyalty are being 
sent to prison for exactly the same reasons as 
those which were used for committing John 
Bunyan to Bedford jail ; for exposing Baxter to 
the brow-beating of Judge Jeffreys and a 
sentence of eighteen months ’ incarceration ; and 
for sending George Fox to the noisome dun- 
geons of Carlyle, Lancaster and London. The 
world is crying out, ‘Can these things be!’ 

‘ ‘ Since this Act went into effect, ’ ’ said he, “a 
hundred Freemen of England, respectable and 
God-fearing citizens have been sentenced to im- 
prisonment. 

“You know, my friends and brothers, that one 
of the very first ‘ criminals ’ was a feeble old 
man who had served in the ministry for forty 
years ; and because he could not conscientiously 
pay the rate for the support of sectarian schools 
was sentenced to be ‘weighed, stripped, put on 
prison fare and sent to a plank bed ; ’ who as he 
bade farewell to the friends that parted from 
him at the prison door, said to them, ‘I pray 
God this may be the last time any man will be 
imprisoned for conscious’ sake. Has he been 
the last? No, the evil work goes merrily on. 


An Eventful Visit. 


411 


He was the first, the ‘last’ is yet to appear. A 
young Christian Endeavorer was sent to gaol for 
a whole month because he would not pay four 
shillings and sixpence. And when the good 
Alderman 0 ’Connor refused the half-crown, one 
of the gentlemen authorized to administer jus- 
tice in the King’s name cried out, ‘Give him 
three months,’— telling the ‘culprit’ to ‘put his 
conscience in his pocket. ’ 

“In different towns and villages of England 
the number whose furniture, pictures and books 
have been forcibly sold to pay the unrighteous 
tax, now runs into the thousands, and the end i3 
not yet. Boycotting also goes merrily on. A 
few more turns of the screw, and there are 
Englishmen who will follow the Pilgrim Fathers 
to a freer land. Nineteen-twentieths of the sup- 
port of these church schools come from the 
pockets of the citizens. 

“We are no ‘pantomime martyrs,’ nor are we 
‘ anarchists, ’ as we have been called. But we do 
solemnly declare that we will not quietly consent 
for the government to tax us to pay the priests 
to teach our children doctrines which we de- 
test. ‘The title deeds of a man’s rights are 
never lost; they are preserved in his reason.’ 
Yes, they are written indelibly in his heart of 
hearts and they can never be effaced. 

“Be courageous, firm, gentle, respectful, law- 
abiding. But if ‘any man suffer as a Christian 
let him not be ashamed.’ ” 


412 


Pcml Judson. 


Others spoke. It was a soul-stirring occasion. 
The Anglo-Saxon love of freedom was kindled 
anew as by holy fire from some reconsecrated 
altar. 

The little party of visitors had gone hut a few 
paces from the public hall, when a crowd was 
seen upon the sidewalk in front of an incon- 
spicuous building. A sale was evidently going 
on. 

‘ ‘ Let us stop and look on for a moment, ’ ’ sug- 
gested Paul. 

“The gentleman conducting that sale should 
borrow lung power of an American auctioneer- 
let us come closer.” 

“Here is a silver trowel— what am I of- 
fered?” asked the officer, of those who stood 
about. 

Paul stepped out of the carriage and drew 
nearer to the little crowd. 

Three shillings had been offered. 

“It is a memento of the W chapel,” 

whispered one who stood by. 

“That’s the owner of it, the aged minister of 
the gospel, who stands there with his eyes full 
of tears, ’ 9 said another. 

“Does he refuse to pay the sectarian tax?” 
asked Paul. 

“He does, sir— and rightly, in my judgment,” 
said a strong faced, determined looking English- 
man, who heard the question. 

“The trowel was used in laying the corner- 


An Eventful Visit . 


41a 

stone of the W chapel, and a very 

precious memorial it is, in the eyes of the old 
man who labored so hard to build up the work 
there. Now it is to be taken from him and sold 
for an unjust tax.” 

In the meantime, the trowel— which was solid 
silver and worth many times the few shillings, 
the amount which was being exacted of the old 
man, had run up to ten shillings. 

‘ 4 Sold,” said the officer, “to the gentleman 
over there.” 

It was Paul Judson who had made the final 
bid. Paying the ten shillings and taking the 
trowel, Paul pushed his way to the downcast 
old gentleman whose property had been seized 
and sold. The American tipped his hat to the 
gray-haired old veteran of the cross, and hold- 
ing out the trowel, said to him, “This is not 
mine, but yours, my revered friend. Take it 
and keep it forever. Hand it down to your 
children, not only as a memorial of their 
father’s faithful handiwork in building up the 
walls of Zion, but as an undying witness that 
he would rather sutler privation and hardship 
than violate his conscience and put shackles 
upon his soul’s inalienable freedom.” 

The old man stood as if dazed for a moment ; 
and then a great wave of emotion swept over 
his soul and choked his speech. 

Some of the bystanders felt tears well up in 
their own eyes, as the old man with his feet 


414 


Paul Judson. 


manifestly touching the margin of the river, 
but his spirit soaring amid the stars, stood 
trembling and speechless. They had heard the 
words of the stranger who had bought the 
trowel. Some were steel-cold ; others even 
jeered. Presently the old man broke the silence. 

“You are not an Englishman, sir,”— ad- 
dressing Paul Judson, whose accent had be- 
trayed him. 

“I am proud of being an American, my 
honored sir , 9 1 responded Paul. 

“Then, do not give me back this memento. 
Take it with you. It is yours. Take it to 
America and urge her sons and daughters that 
they keep the lamp of liberty trimmed and 
brightly burning. Bid them when they are 
enjoying their liberty of worship and of work 
according to the dictates of their own con- 
sciences, that they remember to breathe a 
prayer for the motherland, where freedom yet 
iags behind and where waiting justice sleeps. 
Tell them that there are soul-battles yet to be 
fought out on British soil more significant than 
• Hastings or Runnimede.” 

“I urge you to take back your own,” per- 
sisted Paul. “I procured it for you and the 
cause of which it speaks.” 

“No, sir,” said the old man with emphasis. 
“Never!” 

“My country has pressed this chalice to my 
lips and I will not refuse to drink it.” 


An Eventful Visit. 


415 


The words were so emphatic, that Paul knew 
they were meant, every one. 

Taking the old man’s hand and pressing it 
warmly, Paul hade him goodbye, and heard as 
he drove away a fervent “God bless you,” from 
the old man’s lips. 




XXXIII. 


IN LONDONTOWN. 

1 1 By the way, Thursday will be a gala day for 
Americans in London. I must procure you in- 
vitations to the Fourth of July celebration that 
is being prepared by leading Americans here in 
honor of your new ambassador to our court.” 

This suggestion of Mr. Bacon received hearty 
applause of Mr. and Mrs. Judson. 

“How delightful, uncle! Paul and I will 
surely regard it a great privilege to attend.” 

“Yes, I had almost forgotten that Independ- 
ence day is so near at hand. The ocean and 
the wondrous new atmosphere of this great 
metropolis so crowded with big events made 
me forget that calendars have any place in 
human affairs,” replied Paul. 

The day came. There was no sound of can- 
non nor noise of fireworks, yet it was truly a 
glorious Fourth. The rains and fogs, which 
416 


In Londontown. 


417 


had been prevalent for several days, passed, 
and the air had the freshness of May. 

The most brilliant company of Americana 
that ever assembled upon foreign soil gathered 
in the evening at the Carlton House. Among 
them were Mr. and Mrs. Paul Judson, of Ken- 
tucky. The newly appointed Ambassador to 
the Court of St. James was at the center of the 
banqueting board. To his right sat the English- 
man who had been chosen to special honor that 
evening, the Honorable James Bryce, Member 
of Parliament, author of “The American Com- 
monwealth/ ’ There were toasts to such senti- 
ments as “The President of the United States 
“The Indestructible Union of Indestructible 
States “The Puritan and the Cavalier 
* i Christopher, the 4 Christ-bearer ; ’ ’ ’ ‘ 1 Columbus, 
‘the dove;’ ” “May America bear the Christ’s 
message of white-winged peace to all mankind ;” 
“England and America— when we pull to- 
gether, who can pull against us?” Then came 
the speech from the invited English guest. He 
responded to the sentiment: “America’s Great- 
est Gift to the Idea of Government— Liberty of 
Conscience.” After attributing to Roger Wil- 
liams and his Baptist co-workers the honor of 
having fought the first battles for religious 
liberty, the distinguished Englishman said: 

“Roger Williams grasped his principle with 
extraordinary firmness; yet he never lost his 
temper, he was gentle and sweet-souled, and 


418 


Paul Judton. 


even the grim Puritans of the Bay State had to 
acknowledge that he was a ‘dear fellow . ’ 

‘ ‘ There is plenty of work still in determining 
the true limits of the freedom of conscience. 
What is conscience ? How far does it go ? What 
are the limits to that borderland where con- 
science conflicts with public interests f And yet 
it is certain that the principle of the liberty of 
conscience will prevail. And this, for two 
reasons: First, because the New Testament 
shows that it is the essence of Christianity, and 
second, because history shows that it is the 
safest and best principle to follow. 

“The lamp kindled by Roger Williams on the 
banks of the Seekonk has spread its light and 
illumined the minds of Christian men all over 
the world ; and England herself may do well to 
look anew toward that beacon light. ,, 

“Why, husband,” whispered Mrs. Judson, 
“those words sound somewhat like your own at 
Wilton on commencement day a few years ago.” 

“Yes, but as a youth, I did not realize their 
full meaning as I do today — especially since my 
visit to the Mother Country.” 

“God Save the King,” and America — “ My 
Country ’Tis of Thee” intertwined in song; and 
“Hail Columbia” followed “Britannia Rules 
the Waves. ’ ’ The sentiment, inscribed upon the 
cards of menu , “Whoever does aught to mar the 
friendly relations between these two kin nations 
is a common enemy to both,” seemed the 


In Londontown. 419 

unanimous voice of all who sat around the 
board. 

It was in the wee small hours when the patri- 
otic company of Americans dispersed, the toast- 
master suggesting that all join in singing, “0 
say, can you see by the dawn ’s early light. ’ ’ It 
was sung with zest. 

“Pauline, it is a great pleasure to be on 
English soil, and yet one is never more sincerely 
proud of being an American than when away 
from one’s native shore.” 

“The union which we— one an American, the 
other born on English soil— have pledged to one 
another, to keep inviolable, Paul, ‘till death us 
do part,’ is, I trust, suggestive of the eternal 
friendship which shall prevail between these 
two English-speaking nations. ’ ’ 

And so closed another red-letter day in the 
life of the two young Americans, whose honey- 
moon was being crowded with stimulating 
thoughts and entrancing scenes. 

In truth, the stay of the Judsons in London 
was full of engaging interest. 

“You must certainly go to Spurgeon’s Taber- 
nacle across the Thames,” said Mr. Bacon, one 
morning. And so the little party went. 

“Here is the old London bridge, and over 
there is the new.” 

“Below, just there is Billingsgate, the famous 
old fish market.” 

“And see grim Tower of London just above,” 


420 


Paul Judson. 


added Pauline. "What memories, what night- 
mares, what tales its ancient walls might nar- 
rate, had they power of speech !” 

"And here we are at last at the very spot 
where the greatest preacher of modern times, 
Charles Haddon Spurgeon, preached so long 
and so faithfully/ ’ said Mr. Bacon. "The old 
building is burned, but here is the spot . 9 ’ 

"Ah, Christendom and the Baptists will 
always be proud of that noble minister of 
Truth,” added Paul. 

"What would London be without her faith- 
ful men of God; and her wide-awake spiritual 
churches,” suggested Pauline. 

"Alas, some are alive,” responded the 
uncle, "and some of them have a name to live, 
but are dead, as was said of one of the ancient 
churches in John’s vision.” 

"On our way homeward, I wish to show you 
some of our churches that you have not yet 
seen,” suggested Mr. Bacon, as the carriage 
started back across the Thames. 

"After the great fire in 1666,” continued Mr. 
Bacon, "Sir Christopher Wren, England’s 
greatest architect, erected a number of our most 
historic and highly-revered edifices. Tomor- 
row you shall go into St. Paul’s, and by looking 
around you, from crypt to 'speaking gallery,* 
behold the monument to Sir Christopher Wren.” 

As the carriage passed through the very 
heart of that older part of London known as 


In Londontown. 


421 


the city, Mr. Bacon said, “Here almost within 
a stone’s throw of the Lord Mayor’s office and 
the Bank of England, there are fifteen interest- 
ing old churches.” 

Just then the famous Bow bells sounded the 
time of day. 

“Are these churches well attended?” inquired 
Paul Judson. 

“Bless you, no. They stand for the sake of 
memories, sentiments and— salaries,” was Mr. 
Bacon’s rather sarcastic rejoinder. “Why, sir, 
by actual count on a recent Lord’s day all 
fifteen of them together had within their walls 
hut five hundred people, men, women and chil- 
dren. Many of their members have removed to 
remote parts of London, and still more of the 
churchgoers that remain have joined the Free 
churches.” 

“Property must be very valuable in this 
locality,” suggested Paul, as he observed the 
character of the buildings and the business 
around him. 

“Why, sir, do you see that church just before 
you? That is ‘ Allhallows.’ Just back to back 
with it is the church of ‘ St. Edmund-the-King. ’ 
Both of these were designed by Wren. ‘Allhal- 
lows’ is so hemmed in by business buildings, I 
think you would never have found it had I not 
brought you here. Some have, therefore, called 
it the ‘invisible church.’ The lot on which if 
stands is appraised at four millions of dollars.” 


422 


Paul Judson . 


“ Why is the property not sold that the church 
may get out where the people are ? ’ ’ asked the 
practical young American. 

“Ah, you Americans do not quite understand 
the workings of the Established Church .’ 9 

“ Englishmen are very conservative,” replied 
Paul. 

“Each church has connected with it a 6 living,’ 
a more or less lucrative salary. This makes it 
difficult to correct the almost incredible policy 
of keeping dead churches in existence at 
enormous cost. Why, sir, a late rector of 
4 Allhallows ’ spent but one hundred and sixteen 
hours during the entire year in serving- the 
church. For this he received his stipend of 
nearly ten thousand dollars, and the rectory was 
rented out as a restaurant, besides. ’ ’ 

“Why are not some of these effete churches 
united into one?” was another inquiry of the 
young American. 

“There are too many good things at stake for 
those who possess the ‘livings,’ ” replied Mr. 
Bacon. “These are connected with some of 
the endowed lectureships— which are no 
longer delivered— and other prerequisites too 
valuable to be surrendered. I am ashamed 
of this absurd and scandalous state of af- 
fairs into which the long establishment of 
the English Church has brought us ; but facfs 
are facts.” 

“What church is this we are now approach- 


In Londontown . 


423 


mg?” asked Paul, as he pointed to an ancient 
looking structure with a square tower. 

“That is ‘St. Catherine Cree,’ where the 
famous ‘lion sermon’ is preached every year.” 

“What is that, uncle?” asked Pauline, with 
curiosity. 

“When in 1646 Sir John Gayer was traveling 
in Arabia, he was attacked by a lion. He es- 
caped the paw of the king of the forest, how- 
ever. To commemorate his deliverance from 
death he provided an endowment, that the rector 
may he required to preach annually a sermon 
upon Sir John’s escape from the mouth of the 
lion. For this the rector receives a liberal fee. ’ ’ 

“What a remarkable method of perpetuating 
one ’s memory, ’ ’ Pauline ventured. 

“The prophet Daniel’s deliverance was 
doubtless quite as miraculous,” said Paul, “and 
I presume more sermons have been preached 
concerning it. ’ ’ 

“But no endowment seemed necessary to per- 
petuate its memory,” quickly replied Mr. Bacon. 

“And now we are approaching the quaint old 
church of St. Ethelburga,” he continued. “A re- 
cent rector of this church did not preach a single 
sermon in it for twenty years. But he drew his 
‘living’ of five thousand, five hundred dollars 
annually, for doing nothing— a poor curate 
cheerfully taking the work off his hands for 
nine hundred and forty dollars a year.” 

“If such things as these are true, I do not 


424 


Paul Judson. 


wonder that dissent is growing, and that there 
are those who are crying out for disestablish- 
ment. Such conditions would be impossible in 
America,’ ’ rejoined Paul, with renewed pride in 
the land of his birth. 


XXXIV. 


MAKING HISTORY. 

“Pauline, what do you think? I have just re- 
ceived a letter from Marcus, saying that his 
whole life-plan has undergone a change / 9 said 
Paul to his wife, one morning as they sat 
writing. 

“Indeed, in what way?” 

“First, he is going to marry.” 

“That is quite a change in a man’s life, I 
grant you. But is there anything else?” 

“Yes, he has decided to become a mis- 
sionary.” 

“Is it possible? And the young lady is wil- 
ling?” 

“Willing? She is anxious to devote her life 
to that kind of service. Indeed she is not alto- 
gether a stranger to it.” 

“He will marry Miss Tunstall, then— your old 
sweetheart, of whom I’ve heard so much.” 

“Yes, Pauline, think how near you came to the 
calamity of not getting me,” said Paul, as he 
made a low courtesy, his hand upon his breast. 

“It was a narrow escape, indeed— for had 
she just said ‘Yes/ instead of 4 No/ I would 
425 


426 


Paul Judson. 


never have been Mrs. Judson,’ ’ replied Pauline, 
with a good-natured laugh. 

4 4 Yes, Marcus says that Virginia Tunstall 
has agreed to marry him, and both will sail for 
Japan. But Virginia makes one single condi- 
tion, and that is that both of them first take a 
two-years’ course in missionary training. They 
will enter the Seminary at Falls City the coming 
session. . For this, the oil money seems a kind 
Providence. ’ ’ 

“It is a plucky thing for them to do at their 
age, even with the necessary money provided.” 

4 ‘ But when people are in earnest they will do 
courageous things. ’ ’ 

“I wish them well, Paul. Sit down at once 
and send them our congratulations and best 
wishes. ’ ’ 

“I am glad they have decided to take their 
missionary training at Falls City, for since it is 
in our own state they will be in easy reach of 
us.” 

“This is no new thing with Miss Tunstall, I 
presume, but is it not a very sudden decision 
for your brother!” inquired Pauline. 

“He writes that it is not; for he has felt ever 
since his first religious experience in the city 
by the sea, that he would like to devote himself 
to a wider service for the world. He had just 
accepted the position as captain on a large 
ocean liner, having risen rapidly from the very 
first. But all this is given up now. His desire, 


Making History. 


427 


he writes, is to man a gospel ship which shall 
ply the waters of the Japanese sea, touching at 
the ports and the smaller islands.” 

“I confess I have been interested in reading 
of the modern uses of all the best inventions for 
evangelizing the world— chapel cars, gospel 
ships, and the like.” 

“Yes, did not the apostle see an angel called 
Evangel flying through the air with the good 
tidings of love? There is no reason why we 
may not some day see gospel airships flying 
abroad for the purpose of spreading the good 
news. ’ ’ 

“I see no reason why Christ’s messengers 
should not he as quick as any others to make 
use of the best things, for they are commanded 
to be ‘instant in season.’ And what is this hut 
a command to be up-to-date f” said Mrs. Judson. 

“Well, Marcus’ letter contained much good 
news. I knew he had his heart set on Virginia. 
She has been the unconscious guiding star of 
his life for several years. I thought the young 
man’s roving love of the sea would be turned 
to some good account, and that mother ’s prayers 
would in some way be answered. But tomor- 
row, Pauline, you must remember, we are to 
attend the great Baptist World Congress to he 
held in Exeter Hall. ’ ’ 

“I believe you say it is to be the first time the 
Baptists from all parts of the world have been 
in one gathering since the day of Pentecost.” 


428 


Paul Judson. 


“Yes, Pauline, and since it has been more 
than nineteen centuries since we were together 
we are going to make it a very happy reunion,” 
said Paul, with a smile. 

“I hope the meeting may be as powerful and 
as glorious as that was on the wonderful day 
of long ago,” added his wife. 

“Are you to speak!” she asked. 

“I have been invited to take the place of an 
appointed speaker, and made a brief address on 
‘The Christian’s Duty to the State.’ ” 

The gathering of kindred hearts the world 
over turned out to be a truly glorious one. 
There is no unity like the unity of soul, when 
high purposes bind men’s hearts together. 
Every continent and clime was represented. 
Every great nation, and even the distant islands 
sent one or more of their workers ; and the great 
themes of the Kingdom were upon the minds of 
the earnest company. Questions of doctrine, 
questions of practical interest and of future 
planning were the problems of the hour. And 
the Spirit of God, like a fire, warmed the hearts 
of those who spoke and those who heard, till 
through the medium of those present from 
many parts, the whole earth seemed belted with 
a blaze of spiritual fervor. The brotherhood of 
those who are sons of a common Father seemed 
more dear, and the desire to win a whole world 
to the only Savior never appeared more deep 
and pervasive. 


Making History . 429 

Near the close of the session, when thoughts 
turned to the question when and where the great 
hosts should next meet, Paul Judson arose and 
caught the ear of the president. 

4 4 Brothers, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ if you look for a place 
where the World Congress of Baptists should 
next convene, turn your eyes westward— to 
America, where Baptists have flourished as 
upon no other soil in the world. In a land of 
freedom, a religious body which has always 
stood for liberty finds its best opportunity. 
The nation’s capital, named for the immortal 
Washington, stands ready to receive you. It 
is the city, in the laying off of which, the great 
French architect, L ’Enfant, said: ‘Just here,’ 
pointing to a certain spot, ‘is to be the nation’s 
great cathedral.’ ‘No,’ was the reply, ‘America 
will know no national church; but will protect 
all equally in their worship of God. ’ 

“We can open to you the doors of hospitable 
Richmond-upon- the- James, where Baptists are 
relatively stronger than in any other place in 
the world; to Louisville, upon the Ohio, where 
the school of training for Baptist ministers, the 
largest in the world, carries on its growing 
work. We invite you to the ‘City of Brotherly 
Love, ’ where for nearly two centuries the cause 
we love has lived and flourished till Philadel- 
phia has become a name among Baptists for* 
power and leadership. We can welcome you to, 
cultured Boston, where sits in growing influence; 


4 : 30 


Paul Judscm. 


the oldest of America’s universities, whose first 
president adopted the views of Baptists; to 
Providence, where Roger Williams first un- 
furled the banner of soul-liberty upon American 
soil, and proclaimed that believers’ baptism 
alone is scriptural; to Newport, where John 
Clarke and Mark Lucas, with their band of bap- 
tized believers contended earnestly for the faith 
once for all delivered to the saints. Prom New 
England, where. Baptists are oldest, to the 
Southland, where they are most numerous, we 
welcome this World Congress to the shores of 
the New World.” 

The cries of 4 ‘ Hear!” “Hear!” from Eng- 
lish throats were mingled with loud applause 
as Paul Judson took his seat. The sentiment 
was all pervasive that America should have the 
privilege of welcoming to her borders the next 
great Congress. 

The assembly was over. But it had left upon 
the memories of all, a record which read some- 
what like this: “As a religious body, bound 
together not by ecclesiastical ties but by a com- 
mon aim and led by one Divine Captain, we 
have a message for the world— to the unsaved 
the good tidings of redemption by faith in the 
Lord Christ ; to Christendom, the message of 
perfect obedience to his revealed will ; and the 
spiritual life as the only means, through him 
of conquering the world. ’ ’ 

As the steamer turned her bow westward and 


Making History. 


431 


the English shore line was becoming dimmer, 
Mr. and Mrs. Judson waved a loving fsxewell to 
the Mother Country. 

“It was glorious,” said Paul, “to have had 
fellowship with Maclaren, Clifford, the younger 
Spurgeon and a host of others great and good ; 
to have entered into the heritage of Bunyan’s 
influence, of Andrew Fuller ’s, of Robert Hall ’s, 
of Charles Haddon Spurgeon’s, and of a great 
host who have gone before. My faith in God 
and confidence in man have increased. How 
could they ever have been weak? My very soul 
is refreshed and made stronger.” 

Indeed, the minds of the returning Americans 
still lingered upon the good things that had 
been seen and felt upon English soil, till at 
length the gray line of the American shore was 
visible. 

Paul Judson had scarcely landed in New 
York, when a reporter of one of the great dailies 
sought an interview. 

“This is Senator Paul Judson, of Kern 
tucky?” 

“Yes, sir.” 



432 


Paul Judson . 


1 i I hear you will probably be a candidate for 
governor in the next election.’ ’ 

“I know nothing of it, sir. I am just hack 
from a trip abroad with Mrs. J udson. My mind 
has been quite free from political concerns . 9 9 

“The papers of your state have been using 
your name quite freely— and hearing you would 
probably be upon this steamer, I came to seek 
from your own lips some expression upon the 
gubernatorial situation . 9 9 

“You are quite wide-awake, young man, I ad- 
mit ; and if there were anything to say upon the 
subject, you would surely deserve to secure it. 
But, as a matter of fact, I am not informed as 
to the situation at home and so can give you 
nothing which will be of the slightest value to 
the public.” 

The train upon which were Paul Judson and 
his handsome wife had scarcely pulled into the 
depot of their home town, when the strains of 
“My Old Kentucky Home” were heard. 

“What does all this mean, my dear!” asked 
Paul. “Is it a traveling show, or did the brass 
band turn out to receive you?" said he, with a 
jovial laugh. 

The music changed. 4 ‘ Hail to the Chief ’ 9 was 
now played by the band. As Paul Judson ap- 
peared upon the platform, cheers went up with 
enthusiasm from a large crowd which had gath- 
ered at the station to honor his return home. 


Making History. 


433 


“ Three cheers for our next governor,” was 
heard above the confusion. 

Then for the first time it dawned upon the 
young public servant that the reporter who ac- 
costed him upon the wharf at Gotham may have 
caught some inkling of possible, coming honors. 



XXXV. 


STEERING GREAT SHIPS. 

“Is the Governor at home?” asked an old 
man, who stood upon the veranda of the gov- 
ernor ’s mansion. 

“He has not returned from his trip inspect- 
ing the asylums, sir,” said the negro butler, 
who had answered the rap upon the door. 

The old man was none other than Hezekiah 
Tipton, who nearly fifteen years before had 
spoken the cheering words to Paul Judson when 
the youth was on his way to Wilton for the first 
time. The unexpected snowstorm that delayed 
the two Judson boys had thrown them upon the 
hospitality of this kind old mountaineer. Paul 
never forgot the fresh, breezy encouragement 
he received from Hezekiah Tipton, and when it 
became possible for him as governor to show his 
434 


Steering Great Ships. 


435 


gratitude, he had secured the election of his 
aged friend as doorkeeper of the Senate, a place 
old Hezekiah was amply able to fill, notwith- 
standing his limited experience and advancing 
years. Hezekiah having arrived upon the scene 
had simply called to express his thanks for the 
Governor’s kindness. 

“I want to see the young man who’s gone 
right up so rapid,” said Hezekiah to the butler. 
“I want to see ef he’s changed much sense I 
saw him at my old house in the mountains. I 
know’d he’d make suthin’ of hisself. I sed so 
at the time. I told Mandy so— that’s my daugh- 
ter. She’s married sense and didn’t live very 
long after. But there ’s ben changes and that ’s 
the reason I thought I’d come down here. The 
young Gov ’nor got me a place. I want to come 
in and see him and thank him.” 

The old man went off disappointed. But 
there would yet be ample opportunity for him 
to see Governor Judson and thank him to his 
heart’s content. 

Yes, Paul Judson had been elected governor 
of his native state by a good majority. The ad- 
jective is advisedly chosen. It was not a great 
majority when the number of the votes was con- 
sidered, but it was a good majority, so far as 
the quality of them was concerned. It was a 
stiff fight. Party lines were for the time much 
impaired and no one knew how the election 
would go till all the votes were counted. Some 


436 


Paul Judson. 


who said they would vote for “a yellow dog” 
provided he he of their own party, became 
heartily ashamed of themselves before the cam- 
paign was over. When the smoke of the battle 
of the ballots cleared away, it was discovered 
that the “ yellow dog” theory of political ethics 
was at a discount. Men voted as patriots 
rather than as partisans. 

The weight of public affairs rested heavily, 
but gracefully, upon the shoulders of the young 
Governor. He took his office seriously and so 
worked very hard. His strong and well-regu- 
lated body, however, was a worthy instrument 
for accomplishing the exacting tasks of the high 
office to which the people had elected him. He 
felt keenly the honor of being chief executive 
of one of the greatest commonwealths in the 
world, but he conceived of his position as one of 
service. He therefore worked night and day 
for the interests of the people. 

In so high a conception of his responsibility 
Paul Judson had the intelligent aid of his wife, 
Her extraordinary qualities of head and heart 
gave her the ability to grace with exceptional 
merit the governor ’s mansion. 

The social atmosphere about the home of the 
executive was never sweeter nor more engaging 
than when Pauline Judson gave it character by 
her gracious charm. Her entertainments were 
never extravagant, but always planned with a 
taste and a propriety that compelled universal 


Steering Great Ships. 


437 


praise. Again and again did she astonish some 
and gratify others by proving beyond question 
that social functions need not lean upon the 
presence of enticing beverage or doubtful prac- 
tice to give them zest. While the rejection of 
these might require more skill and intelligent 
thought in the entertainment, all admitted that 
Mrs. Judson had succeeded in being the most 
gracious mistress that had occupied the gov- 
ernor ’s mansion within their memory. 

L ‘ Husband, ’ ’ said she to Paul one day, as they 
sat together in the spacious library, “can you 
realize that the time has gone by so rapidly! 
Marcus and Virginia will finish their two-years ’ 
course at Falls City in a few weeks. They will 
marry quietly at Falls City, you remember, and 
be ready to sail for Japanese waters in July. 
Do you not think it will be a delightful thing to 
have them pay us a visit before they sail!” 

‘ ‘ Capital idea, my dear. Why can I not think 
of such things as readily as you ? When it comes 
to hitting the nail on the head you surpass me 
every time. ’ ’ 

“I’ve always heard that women are very poor 
at driving nails, Paul.” 

“Oh, but these nails are the invisible ones 
that hold social life together, and keep the world 
from selfishly flying apart. Here you women 
beat us men without even trying. Certainly we 
must have Marcus and Virginia. ’ ’ 

The school of the prophets at Falls City, with' 


438 


Paul Judson. 


its department for missionary training, was so 
conducted that one of college training like Vir- 
ginia, or one like Marcus, whose previous 
schooling came largely through knowledge of 
men and affairs, equally profit by its instruction. 
I'he time came for graduation and both of them 
had made their mark as students in the several 
courses they had undertaken to master. 

The two brothers and their wives sat in happy 
fellowship in the home of Governor Judson. 
They talked of Hawk’s Nest and of Wilton, of 
days gone by, and of the happy days to come. 

“Your study at the Seminary has been help- 
ful, I am sure ,’ 7 said Paul to Marcus and Vir- 
ginia. 

“Yes, to both of us. We have been led into 
the study of the Bible truths afresh, so that we 
may teach them as simply as possible to those 
who have never before heard them.” 

“That reminds me of the story of America’s 
first missionaries to distant lands. I read it 
years ago with deep interest when in college,” 
Paul added. 

“Do you mean the story of the Williams Col- 
lege students and the famous haystack?” asked 
Marcus, who had up to this time been quite 
quiet and meditative, as though his mind were 
far away, or immersed in some deep reverie. 

“Yes, the haystack played a part in the story. 
Some students used to gather at a haystack and 
pray for the salvation of the whole world. 


439 


Steering Great Ships. 

[Among them was good Luther Rice, one of the 
first Americans to go to a foreign country to 
preach the gospel/ ’ said Paul. 

‘ i But was not one of your own name the very 
first!’ ’ inquired Pauline. 

“Ah, yes, Judson— Adoniram Judson— was a 
leader in the first little company of five that 
sailed from Salem, Mass., as early as February 
19, 1812. They went to Calcutta and began 
their work of preaching the gospel. But, while 
on the voyage, he began studying his Bible 
afresh, with special reference to his preaching; 
he came to the conclusion that only believers 
should be baptized. Being dissatisfied with his 
own baptism in infancy, he was baptized at 
Serampore by William Ward, an English Bap- 
tist. He was compelled, therefore, to give up 
the appointment and support of the Congrega- 
tionalists who had sent him out. 

“Strangely enough,’ ’ continued Paul, 
“Luther Rice, Judson ’s old friend and fellow- 
student, who started out for India from Phila- 
delphia just one day before Judson sailed from 
Salem, also came to the conclusion that his bap- 
tism in infancy was not in accord with Scrip- 
ture teaching. On his arrival in India he, too, 
asked to be baptized at the hands of the English 
missionary. 

“It was in this way that Rice found himself 
as well as Judson without support, in a strange 
land.” 


±40 


Paul Judson. 


“What in the world did they do?” asked 
Pauline, with manifest interest. “I believe I 
never read the story of these first American 
missionaries. ’ * 

“What did they do? Why, Luther Bice said 
he would come back to America and try to 
arouse the Baptists of this country to mission- 
ary zeal, while Adoniram Judson and his wife, 
Ann Hasseltine, remained in India. Bice re- 
turned; went up and down this land preaching 
the duty of sending the gospel to the heathen. 
The Baptists responded, organized their Tri- 
ennial Convention; took Mr. and Mrs. Judson 
as their missionaries, and began from that year 
of our Lord, 1814, a new era of influence and 
power. ’ ’ 

“Those pioneers were men to he proud of,” 
said Virginia, warmly. 

“ It is a great honor to be, in an humble way, 
successors to such heroes,” added Marcus, with 
modest pride. 

The farewell reception given to Mr. and Mrs. 
Marcus Judson was a notable success. They 
were the honored guests in the Governor’s 
home. Mr. Gates was present, too; for the 
host and hostess agreed that such an occasion 
would be incomplete without the man who had 
been of such spiritual uplift not only to Paul 
Judson and Pauline when they were young 
Christians at Wilton, but to Virginia Tunstall, 
whose life had been transformed by God’s 


tel 


Steering Great Ships. 

Spirit, partly, at least, under the influence of 
this godly shepherd. 

But that which made the deepest impression 
upon the company was the unexpected incident 
which occurred during the evening’s joys— the 
deeper because unexpected. 

“Here is a telegram for Mr. Judson,” said 
one of the servants, as he entered the room and 
handed an envelope to the Governor. 

Opening it, he read aloud, as follows : 

‘ 4 Have heard of your brother ’s plans in east- 



ern waters. Extend to Captain Judson and wife 
my best wishes and say that I claim for myself 
the privilege of defraying the expenses of their 
ship of good tidings. Grace Calder.” 

“Hurrah!” shouted several voices at once. 

“Magnificent!” said others. 

“Grace Calder,” said the Governor, “is one 
of the noblest women on this green orb. She is 
wealthy and will be wealthier still. She knows 
the meaning of stewardship; she feels in her 
noble bosom the pangs of a lost world, for her 
ears are sensitive to its pain-stricken cry.” 


442 


Paul Judson. 


A problem for the two young missionaries 
was solved at a stroke. Their work would be 
supported ; for Grace Calder would certainly do 
what she said. 

Never did occasion call to the minds of those 
present a troop of so many memories as did this 
one. 

That very afternoon there had appeared at 
the mansion the quaintest looking old fellow 
that had ever been seen at the State’s capital. 
He was more than six feet tall, though age had 
caused his shoulders to stoop a little. His hair 
seemed as spotless as driven snow, and his 
beard, long and flowing, was just as white. In 
his hand was a large hickory walking stick, 
which might have been of his own making. 
Knocking with the butt end of it against the 
front door, the old man asked to see the Gov- 
ernor. 

Governor Judson had just come in from his 
office, and went into the reception room to see 
the unknown visitor. As soon as his eyes rested 
upon him, there was no doubt as to who it was 
that stood before him. It was “the old man of 
the woods,” whose acquaintance he had made 
under peculiar circumstances years before. 

“How do you do, my good friend,” said the 
Governor, as he warmly shook the old man’s 
hand. “I remember very well my unexpected 
visit to your cottage door. It was at a time in 
my life when I knew not whither to turn. You 


Steering Great Ships. 443 

helped me that day, and I have remembered 
some of your words to this good hour. Take a 
seat, my honored sir, yon look tired. ’ 9 

“I am glad to shake yonr hand, Governor,” 
said the old man, slowly, after he had taken his 
seat. * ‘ When I saw that Paul Jndson had been 
raised to this high office, I at once said to my- 
self, ‘ That’s the name of the young man who 
visited my hut one day.’ I was struck by the 
name— Paul Judson— two good names, and I 
said to myself when you went away, ‘That 
young man will be heard from yet,’ and when 
I found out that you had been doing so many 
things to make this poor world a better place 
of habitation, I made up my mind to leave my 
cosy hut for a while and make a pilgrimage to 
the capital just to see you and talk with you.” 
The old man trembled as he spoke, leaning one 
hand upon his cane. 

“Yes, my aged friend, I confess I owe to you 
an impression made on my mind, which has 
done much for me in shaping my public career. 
Do you remember how you pointed out so 
clearly to me that day as we sat and talked to- 
gether, the need of having the outward condi- 
tions of society made better, sweeter, purer, as 
well as the inner life of the people trans- 
formed?” 

“Ah, that has been my hobby, though I had 
failed. For I withdrew from the things that 
hurt and saddened me, instead of throwing my- 


4:U 


Paul Judson. 


self into the arduous task of making them bet- 
ter, until, alas, it was too late. I thought I saw 
in your young character excellent soil for 
dropping good seed, and so I opened to you my 
soul that day. Since then, even in my secluded 
mountain hermitage I have tried to keep in 
closer touch with the world, and so am here 
today because I had found out of your noble 
undertakings at making things better in the 
world about you. ’ ’ 

“My parents taught me to love the good, my 
revered friend; but you taught me in so strik- 
ing a way of the world’s need of a better en- 
vironment— if men are to fulfill their destiny— 
that I am sure my life has been influenced for 
good by the unexpected visit I made you at 
your hermitage.” 

“1 cannot live long, Governor. That is one 
reason I am here. I go back tomorrow to my 
humble cottage, and shall soon pass away, a 
lonely, but, I hope, a saved old man. With no 
one around me to help, and nothing within me 
to commend, I could only look above me for aid. 
I have still something of this world’s store that 
I took with me to my hut, some forty years ago. 
There was no way to spend it if I had cared to. 
It is not much, and I have no one on earth that 
cares for me. Those that once loved me have 
gone over, and I have made no friends, I fear. 
But I want what I leave behind to live after 
me and do good when I am gone.” 


445 


Steering Great Ships . 

Here the old man reached into an old-fash- 
ioned gripsack he carried and pulled out from it 
a hag, and laid it down on the floor at PauPs 
feet. 

“Here are three thousand dollars in gold- 
proceeds from all I could gather from a wrecked 
home and fortune at the close of that awful 
Civil strife that rent the land. My father was 
rich and I was making money, when the war 
broke out, and as happily married as ever man 
was— but I told you the story before.” The 
old man wiped away the unbidden tears from 
his eyes, and trembled more than ever from the 
agitation which past memories wrought upon 
his feeble, outworn frame. 

“I wish to turn over this little sack to you,” 
he continued, “that you may invest it and let 
the proceeds each year go into the making of 
some promising young life, who, with an edu- 
cated head and noble heart, may stand for those 
things which make the world a better place to 
live in.” 

“You could not invest your money better, my 
venerable friend, than to put it into youth and 
character.” 

“If you will draw up the papers, Governor, I 
will also make you trustee for those secluded 
acres on which my hut stands. Some day they, 
too, may be of value— who can tell?” 

All this came as a surprise to Governor Jud* 
son. But he accepted the trust imposed upon 


446 


Paul Judson. 



him. The transfer of money and of land was 
made ; and still, as years have passed, the echo 
of the thoughtful deed of “the old man of the 
woods’ ’ resounds in many hearts and in many 
communities where those blessed by it have 
lived and wrought— showing that even a mis- 
guided life may recover something from the 
wreck of lost opportunity and bestow a bene- 
diction upon the world. 

Delightfully sped the hours during which Mar- 
cus and Virginia were guests at the Governor ’s 
mansion. They talked of plans, pregnant with 
hope, when on “the good steamer Fuku-in” 
they would sail among the islands of the Jap- 
anese waters and bear the message of life to 
the people of that island kingdom. 

“ ' Fuku-in ?’ That’s a peculiar name for a 
ship. Is that the name by which your vessel is 
to be called 1 ’ ’ asked Pauline. 

“Fuku-in is the Japanese word for 'Glad 
tidings,’ ” answered Virginia. “I gave her 
that name myself. ’ ’ 

“How beautiful, then, that your ship is to be 
the ' Glad Tidings. ’ I shall call it that, dear Vir- 
ginia, if you will allow me to use the English 
name,” replied Pauline. 



447 


Steering Great Ships. 

“I have been trying to prepare myself by pick- 
ing up as much J apanese as I can before I sail. 
Marcus and I have been studying the language 
together. He is already quite expert in writing 
many of the signs. They are made with a 
brush, you know,” remarked Virginia, her 
face beaming with delight as she thought of the 
work to which she and her husband were about 
to give themselves. 

It was the last day of the delightful sojourn. 
They talked far into the night. Next morning 
the two happy messengers of glad tidings were 
to say farewell, turning their faces toward the 
Golden Gate, and thence to the Island Kingdom, 
where usefulness and joy awaited them. 

A mother’s prayers for her two boys, on 
whom she had willingly bestowed the very best 
she had, were at last answered— though she her- 
self had not lived to see her hopes ripen into 
fruitage. She passed into her heavenly home, not 
knowing but that her younger boy would always 
be tossed a common sailor upon the billows of 
an uncertain sea ; nor that her older would ever 
find the spirit needle which would bring him 
back to those soul moorings which she knew 
were necessary to his moral and religious 
safety. 

Little could she understand the way by which 
her boys were being led. But if the sainted 
spirits in heaven still look in deep concern upon 
the affairs of loved ones left behind, Matilda 


448 


Paul Judson. 


Judson, mother and saint, must have felt a new 
thrill of joy in heaven, when she realized that 
Paul’s moral storms and struggles were to 
make him stronger to do and to dare for the 
cause of righteousness among men ; even as an 
oak is strengthened by the winds that blow 
hard among its branches, till even the roots 
feel a loosening in the soil below. 

If heaven’s happiness can be multiplied, then 
Mrs. Judson surely experienced a new emotion 
of blessedness as she discerned that the love 
of Marcus for the sea was to be converted into 
service in a day when those that go down 
to the sea in ships shall take up the mes- 
sage, “ Listen, 0 isles, unto me, and hearken ye 
people from far;” when the ocean itself should 
become a highway for the redeemed ; when those 
from distant coast lands ‘ ‘ fly as doves to their 
windows,” and the isles are waiting for him. 

As the little company of friends that had 
gathered at the Governor’s mansion to bid fare- 
well to Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Judson, ambassa- 
dors of the King, stood with swelling bosoms 
and eyes moist with tears of gladness, these 
were the twin wishes that leaped to every heart : 

God bless the Ship of State. 

God save the Good Ship Fuku-in. 




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